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I 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


WHITE  SHADOWS 
IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS 


Village  of  Atuona,  showing  peak  of  Temetiu 

The  author's  house  is  the  small  white  speck  in  the  center 


WHITE  SHADOWS 
IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS 


BY 


FREDERICK  O'BRIEN 


WITH  MANY 
ILLUSTRATIONS 

FROM 
PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1920 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Published,  September,  1919 


FOREWORD 

There  is  in  the  nature  of  every  man,  I  firmly  believe, 
a  longing  to  see  and  know  the  strange  places  of  the 
world.  Life  imprisons  us  all  in  its  coil  of  circumstance, 
and  the  dreams  of  romance  that  color  boyhood  are 
forgotten,  but  they  do  not  die.  They  stir  at  the  sight 
of  a  white-sailed  ship  beating  out  to  the  wide  sea;  the 
smell  of  tarred  rope  on  a  blackened  wharf,  or  the  touch 
of  the  cool  little  breeze  that  rises  when  the  stars  come 
out  will  waken  them  again.  Somewhere  over  the  rim 
of  the  world  lies  romance,  and  every  heart  yearns  to 
go  and  find  it. 

It  is  not  given  to  every  man  to  start  on  the  quest  of 
the  rainbow's  end.  Such  fantastic  pursuit  is  not  for 
him  who  is  bound  by  ties  of  home  and  duty  and  fortune- 
to-make.  He  has  other  adventure  at  his  own  door, 
sterner  fights  to  wage,  and,  perhaps,  higher  rewards  to 
gain.  Still,  the  ledgers  close  sometimes  on  a  sigh,  and 
by  the  cosiest  fireside  one  will  see  in  the  coals  pictures 
that  have  nothing  to  do  with  wedding  rings  or  balances 
at  the  bank. 

It  is  for  those  who  stay  at  home  yet  dream  of  foreign 
places  that  I  have  written  this  book,  a  record  of  one 
happy  year  spent  among  the  simple,  friendly  cannibals 
of  Atuona  valley,  on  the  island  of  Hiva-oa  in  the  Mar- 
quesas. In  its  pages  there  is  little  of  profound  re- 
search, nothing,  I  fear,  to  startle  the  anthropologist  or 


2037166 


FOREWORD 

to  revise  encyclopedias;  such  expectation  was  far  from 
my  thoughts  when  I  sailed  from  Papeite  on  the  Morning 
Star.  I  went  to  see  what  I  should  see,  and  to  learn 
whatever  should  be  taught  me  by  the  days  as  they  came. 
What  I  saw  and  what  I  learned  the  reader  will  see 
and  learn,  and  no  more. 

Days,  like  people,  give  more  when  they  are  ap- 
proached in  not  too  stern  a  spirit.  So  I  traveled  lightly, 
without  the  heavy  baggage  of  the  ponderous-minded 
scholar,  and  the  reader  who  embarks  with  me  on  the 
"long  cruise"  need  bring  with  him  only  an  open  mind 
and  a  love  for  the  strange  and  picturesque.  He  will 
come  back,  I  hope,  as  I  did,  with  some  glimpses  into 
the  primitive  customs  of  the  long-forgotten  ancestors 
of  the  white  race,  a  deeper  wonder  at  the  mysteries 
of  the  world,  and  a  memory  of  sun-steeped  days  on 
white  beaches,  of  palms  and  orchids  and  the  childlike 
savage  peoples  who  live  in  the  bread-fruit  groves  of 
"Bloody  Hiva-oa." 

The  author  desires  to  express  here  his  thanks  to  Rose 
Wilder  Lane,  to  whose  editorial  assistance  the  publica- 
tion of  this  book  is  very  largely  due. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I  PAOE 

Farewell  to  Papeite  beach;  at  sea  in  the  Morning  Star; 
Darwin's  theory  of  the  continent  that  sank  beneath 
the  waters  of  the  South  Seas  ...*,..  3 

CHAPTER  II 

The  trade-room  of  the  Morning  Star;  Lying  Bill  Pincher; 
M.  L'Hermier  des  Plantes,  future  governor  of  the 
Marquesas ;  story  of  McHenry  and  the  little  native 
boy,  His  Dog  . .  9 

CHAPTER  III 

Thirty-seven  days  at  sea;  life  of  the  sea-birds;  strange 
phosphorescence;  first  sight  of  Fatu-hiva;  history  of 
the  islands ;  chant  of  the  Raiateans 20 

CHAPTER  IV 

Anchorage  of  Taha-Uka ;  Exploding  Eggs,  and  his  en- 
gagement as  valet ;  inauguration  of  the  new  governor ; 
dance  on  the  palace  lawn 29 

CHAPTER  V 

First  night  in  Atuona  valley ;  sensational  arrival  of  the 

Golden  Bed ;  Titihuti's  tattooed  legs    .      ...      .      41 

CHAPTER  VI 

Visit  of  Chief  Seventh  Man  Who  is  So  Angry  He  Wallows 
in  the  Mire ;  j  ourney  to  Vait-hua  on  Tahuata  island ; 
fight  with  the  devil-fish ;  story  of  a  cannibal  feast  and 

the  two  who  escaped 52 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VII  PAOE 

Idyllic  valley  of  Vait-hua ;  the  beauty  of  Vanquished  Often ; 
bathing  on  the  beach ;  an  unexpected  proposal  of  mar- 
riage   61 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Communal  life ;  sport  in  the  waves ;  fight  of  the  sharks  and 
the  mother  whale ;  a  day  in  the  mountains ;  death  of 
Le  Capitane  Halley ;  return  to  Atuona  ....  74 

CHAPTER  IX 

The  Marquesans  at  ten  o'clock  mass;  a  remarkable  con- 
versation about  religions  and  Joan  of  Arc  in  which 
Great  Fern  gives  his  idea  of  the  devil  ....  91 

CHAPTER  X 

The  marriage  of  Malicious  Gossip ;  matrimonial  customs  of 
the  simple  natives ;  the  domestic  difficulties  of 
Haabuani 104 

CHAPTER  XI 

Filling  the  popoi  pits  in  the  season  of  the  breadfruit ; 

legend  of  the  mei;  the  secret  festival  in  a  hidden  valley  113 

CHAPTER  XII 

A  walk  in  the  jungle ;  the  old  woman  in  the  breadfruit  tree ; 

a  night  in  a  native  hut  on  the  mountain      ....    123 

CHAPTER  XIII 

The  household  of  Lam  Kai  Oo ;  copra  making ;  marvels  of 
the  cocoanut-groves ;  the  sagacity  of  pigs ;  and  a  crab 
that  knows  the  laws  of  gravitation  .  .  .  .  .  133 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  XIV  PAOE 

Visit  of  Le  Moine;  the  story  of  Paul  G-auguin;  his  house, 
and  a  search  for  his  grave  beneath  the  white  cross  of 
Calvary  .  .  .  .  ..  ...  ..,.  ,  .  .  .  144 

CHAPTER  XV 

Death  of  Aumia ;  funeral  chant  and  burial  customs  ;  causes 

for  the  death  of  a  race      .      .      .      ....      .    154 

CHAPTER  XVI 

A  savage  dance,  a  drama  of  the  sea,  of  danger  and  feast- 
ing; the  rape  of  the  lettuce 167 

CHAPTER  XVII 

A  walk  to  the  Forbidden  Place ;  Hot  Tears,  the  hunchback ; 
the  story  of  Behold  the  Servant  of  the  Priest,  told  by 
Malicious  Gossip  in  the  cave  of  Enamoa  ....  178 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  search  for  rubber-trees  on  the  plateau  of  Ahoa ;  a  fight 
with  the  wild  white  dogs ;  story  of  an  ancient  migra- 
tion, told  by  the  wild  cattle  hunters  in  the  Cave  of  the 
Spine  of  the  Chinaman 189 

CHAPTER  XIX 

A  feast  to  the  men  of  Motopu ;  the  making  of  kava,  and  its 
drinking;  the  story  of  the  Girl  Who  Lost  Her 
Strength £00 

CHAPTER  XX 

A  journey  to  Taaoa;  Kahuiti,  the  cannibal  chief,  and  his 

story  of  an  old  war  caused  by  an  unfaithful  woman    .   214 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXI  PAGE 

The  crime  of  Huahine  for  love  of  Weaver  of  Mats ;  story 
of  Tahia's  white  man  who  was  eaten ;  the  disaster  that 
befell  Honi,  the  white  man  who  used  his  harpoon 
against  his  friends 228 

CHAPTER  XXII 

The  memorable  game  for  the  matches  in   the  cocoanut- 

grove  of  Lam  Kai  Oo 240 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

Mademoiselle   N—  258 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  journey  to  Nuka-hiva;  story  of  the  celebration  of  the 
fete  of  Joan  of  Arc,  and  the  miracles  of  the  white 
horse  and  the  girl 272 

CHAPTER  XXV 

America's  claim  to  the  Marquesas ;  adventures  of  Captain 
Porter  in  1812;  war  between  Haapa  and  Tai-o-hae, 
and  the  conquest  of  Ty pee  valley 290 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  visit  to  Typee;  story  of  the  old  man  who  returned  too 

late 302 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

Journey  on  the  Roberta;  the  winged  cockroaches ;  arrival 

at  a  Swiss  paradise  in  the  valley  of  Oomoa      .      .      .   310 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Labor  in  the  South  Seas ;  some  random  thoughts  on  the 

"survival  of  the  fittest"  .    322 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  XXIX  PAOE 

The  white  man  who  danced  in  Oomoa  valley ;  a  wild-boar 
hunt  in  the  hills ;  the  feast  of  the  triumphant  hunters 
and  a  dance  in  honor  of  Grelet 329 

CHAPTER  XXX 

A  visit  to  Hanavave ;  Pere  Olivier  at  home ;  the  story  of  the 
last  battle  between  Hanahouua  and  Oi,  told  by  the 
sole  survivor ;  the  making  of  tapa  cloth,  and  the 
ancient  garments  of  the  Marquesans  .  .  .  .  .  346 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

Fishing  in  Hanavave ;  a  deep-sea  battle  with  a  shark ;  Red 
Chicken  shows  how  to  tie  ropes  to  sharks'  tails ;  night- 
fishing  for  dolphins,  and  the  monster  sword-fish  that 
overturned  the  canoe ;  the  native  doctor  dresses  Red 
Chicken's  wounds  and  discourses  on  medicine  .  .  358 

CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  journey  over  the  roof  of  the  world  to  Oomoa;  an  en- 
counter with  a  wild  woman  6f  the  hills  .  .  .  .  372 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Return  in  a  canoe  to  Atuona;  Tetuahunahuna  relates  the 
story  of  the  girl  who  rode  the  white  horse  in  the  cele- 
bration of  the  fete  of  Joan  of  Arc  in  Tai-o-hae ;  Proof 
that  sharks  hate  women ;  steering  by  the  stars  to 
Atuona  beach 383 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Sea  sports;  curious  sea-foods  found  at  low  tide;  the  pe- 
culiarities of  sea-centipedes  and  how  to  cook  and  eat 
them 400 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXV  PAOE 

Court  day  in  Atuona ;  the  case  of  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon 
and  the  sewing-machine;  the  story  of  the  perfidy  of 
Drink  of  Beer  and  the  death  of  Earth  Worm  who 
tried  to  kill  the  governor 409 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

The  madman  Great  Moth  of  the  Night ;  story  of  the  famine 

and  the  one  family  that  ate  pig 420 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 

A  visit  to  the  hermit  of  Taha-Uka  valley;  the  vengeance 
that  made  the  Scallamera  lepers;  and  the  hatred  of 
Mohuto  427 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

Last  days  in  Atuona;  My  Darling  Hope's  letter  from  her 

son 436 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 

The  chants  of  departure;  night  falls  on  the  Land  of  the 

War  Fleet  .   443 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Village  of  Atuona,  showing  peak  of  Temetiu  .      .   Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAOK 


Beach  at  Viataphiha-Tahiti 4 

Where  the  belles  of  Tahiti  lived  in  the  shade  to  whiten  their 

complexions         ~ 5 

Lieutenant  L'Hermier  des  Plantes,  Governor  of  the  Mar- 
quesas Islands 12 

Entrance  to  a  Marquesan  Bay 13 

The  ironbound  coast  of  the  Marquesas 20 

A  road  in  Nuka-Hiva 21 

Harbor  of  Tai-o-hae 28 

Schooner  Fetia  Taiao  in  the  Bay  of  Traitors     ....      29 

Andre  Bauda,  Commissaire 36 

The  public  dance  in  the  garden 37 

Antoinette,  a  Marquesan  dancing  girl 40 

Marquesans  in  Sunday  clothes 41 

Vai  Etienne 44 

The  pool  by  the  Queen's  house 45 

Idling  away  the  sunny  hours 72 

Nothing  to  do  but  rest  all  day 73 

Catholic  Church  at  Atuona 88 

A  native  spearing  fish  from  a  rock 89 

A  volunteer  cocoanut  grove,  with  trees  of  all  ages  .      .      .    120 

Climbing  for  cocoanuts 121 

Splitting  cocoanut  husks  in  copra  making  process  .      .      .    132 
Cutting  the  meat  from  cocoanuts  to  make  copra     .      .      .    133 

A  Marquesan  home  on  a  paepae 140 

Isle  of  Barking  Dogs 141 

The  haka,  the  Marquesan  national  dance 168 

Hot  Tears  with  Vai  Etienne ,.      .   169 

The  old  cannibal  of  Taipi  Valley 180 

xiii 


xiv  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAQK 

Enacting  a  human  sacrifice  of  the  Marquesans  ....  181 
Interior  of  Island  of  Fatu-Hiva,  where  the  author  walked 

over  the  mountains 188 

The  plateau  of  Ahoa 189 

Kivi,  the  kava  drinker  with  the  hetairae  of  the  valley     .       .  200 

A  pool  in  the  jungle  . 201 

The  Pekia,  or  Place  of  Sacrifice,  at  Atuona     ....  212 

Marquesan  cannibals,  wearing  dress  of  human  hair  .       .       .  213 

Tepu,  a  Marquesan  girl  of  the  hills,  and  her  sister  .       .       .  220 

A  tattooed  Marquesan  with  carved  canoe  paddle  .       .       .  221 

A  chieftess  in  tapa  garments  with  tapa  parasol       .      .      .  248 

Launching  the  whale-boat 249 

Pere  Simeon  Delma's  church  at  Tai-o-hae 280 

Gathering  the  feis  in  the  mountains 281 

Near  the  Mission  at  Hanavave 312 

Starting  from  Hanavave  for  Oomoa 313 

Feis,  or  mountain  bananas ....  336 

Where  river  and  bay  meet  at  Oomoa,  Island  of  Fatu-Hiva  337 

Sacred  banyan  tree  at  Oomoa 340 

Elephantiasis  of  the  legs 341 

Removing  the  pig  cooked  in  the  umu,  or  native  oven       .       .  348 

The  Kama  Kai,  or  feast  in  Oomoa 349 

Beach  at  Oomoa 352 

Putting  the  canoe  in  the  water 353 

Pascual,  the  giant  Paumotan  pilot  and  his  friends  .      .      .  360 

A  pearl  diver's  sweetheart 361 

Spearing  fish  in  Marquesas  Islands 368 

Pearl  shell  divers  at  work 369 

Catholic  Church  at  Hanavave 376 

A  canoe  in  the  surf  at  Oomoa 377 

The  gates  of  the  Valley  of  Hanavave 392 

A  fisherman's  house  of  bamboo  and  cocoanut  leaves     .       .  393 

Double  canoes 404 

Harbor  sports 405 

Tahaiupehe,  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon,  of  Taaoa     .      .      .  412 

Nataro  Puelleray  and  wife 413 


WHITE  SHADOWS 
IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS 


WHITE  SHADOWS 
IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS 


CHAPTER  ONE 

Farewell  to  Papeite  beach;  at  sea  in  the  Morning  Star;  Darwin's  theory 
of  the  continent  that  sank  beneath  the  waters  of  the  South  Seas. 

BY  the  white  coral  wall  of  Papeite  beach  the 
schooner  Fetia  Tcdao  (Morning  Star)  lay  ready 
to  put  to  sea.     Beneath  the  skyward-sweeping 
green  heights  of  Tahiti  the  narrow  shore  was  a  mass  of 
colored  gowns,  dark  faces,  slender  waving  arms.     All 
Papeite,  flower-crowned   and  weeping,  was   gathered 
beside  the  blue  lagoon. 

Lamentation  and  wailing  followed  the  brown  sailors 
as  they  came  over  the  side  and  slowly  began  to  cast  the 
moorings  that  held  the  Morning  Star.  Few  are  the 
ships  that  sail  many  seasons  among  the  Dangerous 
Islands.  They  lay  their  bones  on  rock  or  reef  or  sink 
in  the  deep,  and  the  lovers,  sons  and  husbands  of  the 
women  who  weep  on  the  beach  return  no  more  to  the 
huts  in  the  cocoanut  groves.  So,  at  each  sailing  on 
the  "long  course"  the  anguish  is  keen. 

ffla  or  a  na  i  te  Atual  Farewell  and  God  keep 
you!"  the  women  cried  as  they  stood  beside  the  half- 
buried  cannon  that  serve  to  make  fast  the  ships  by  the 
coral  bank.  From  the  deck  of  the  nearby  Hinano  came 


4  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  music  of  an  accordeon  and  a  chorus  of  familiar 
words : 

"7  teie  me  mdhana 
Ne  tere  no  oe  e  Hati 
Na  te  Moana! 

Let  us  sing  and  make  merry, 
For  we  journey  over  the  sea !" 

It  was  the  Himene  Tatou  Arearea.  Kelly,  the  wan- 
dering I.  W.  W.,  self -acclaimed  delegate  of  the  mythical 
Union  of  Beach-combers  and  Stowaways,  was  at  the 
valves  of  the  accordeon,  and  about  him  squatted  a  ring 
of  joyous  natives.  "Wela  ka  hoof  Hot  stuff!"  they 
shouted. 

Suddenly  Caroline  of  the  Marquesas  and  Mamoe 
of  Moorea,  most  beautiful  dancers  of  the  quays,  flung 
themselves  into  the  upaupahura,  the  singing  dance  of 
love.  Kelly  began  "Tome!  Tome !"  a  Hawaiian  hula. 
Men  unloading  cargo  on  the  many  schooners  dropped 
their  burdens  and  began  to  dance.  Rude  squareheads 
of  the  f  o'c'sles  beat  time  with  pannikins.  Clerks  in  the 
traders'  stores  and  even  Marechel,  the  barber,  were 
swept  from  counters  and  chairs  by  the  sensuous  melody, 
and  bareheaded  in  the  white  sun  they  danced  beneath 
the  crowded  balconies  of  the  Cercle  Bougainville,  the 

Note.  Foreign  words  in  a  book  are  like  rocks  in  a  path.  There  are 
two  ways  of  meeting  the  difficulty;  the  reader  may  leap  over  them,  or  use 
them  as  stepping  stones.  I  have  written  this  book  so  that  they  may  easily 
be  leaped  over  by  the  hasty,  but  he  will  lose  much  enjoyment  by  doing  so; 
I  would  urge  him  to  pronounce  them  as  he  goes.  Marquesan  words  have 
a  flavor  all  their  own;  much  of  the  simple  poetry  of  the  islands  is  in  them. 
The  rules  for  pronouncing  them  are  simple;  consonants  have  the  sounds 
usual  in  English,  vowels  have  the  Latin  value,  that  is,  a  is  ah,  e  is  ay,  i  is 
ee,  o  is  oh,  and  u  is  oo.  Every  letter  is  pronounced,  and  there  are  r>o  ac- 
cents. The  Marquesans  had  no  written  language,  and  their  spoken  tongue 
was  reproduced  as  simply  as  possible  by  the  missionaries. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  5 

club  by  the  lagoon.  The  harbor  of  Papeite  knew  ten 
minutes  of  unrestrained  merriment,  tears  forgotten, 
while  from  the  warehouse  of  the  navy  to  the  Poodle 
Stew  cafe  the  hula  reigned. 

Under  the  gorgeous  flamboyant  trees  that  paved 
their  shade  with  red-gold  blossoms  a  group  of  white 
men  sang: 

"Well,  ah  fare  you  well,  we  can  stay  no  more  with  you,  my  love, 
Down,  set  down  your  liquor  and  the  girl  from  off  your  knee, 
For  the  wind  has  come  to  say 
'You  must  take  me  while  you  may, 
If  you  'd  go  to  Mother  Carey !' 
(Walk  her  down  to  Mother  Carey!) 

Oh,  we  're  bound  for  Mother  Carey  where  she  feeds  her  chicks 
at  sea !" 

The  anchor  was  up,  the  lines  let  go,  and  suddenly 
from  the  sea  came  a  wind  with  rain. 

The  girls  from  the  Cocoanut  House,  a  flutter  of  bril- 
liant scarlet  and  pink  gowns,  fled  for  shelter,  tossing 
blossoms  of  the  sweet  tiati  Tahiti  toward  their  sailor 
Jovers  as  they  ran.  Marao,  the  haughty  queen,  drove 
rapidly  away  in  her  old  chaise,  the  Princess  Boots 
leaning  out  to  wave  a  slender  hand.  Prince  Hinoi,  the 
fat  spendthrift  who  might  have  been  a  king,  leaned 
from  the  balcony  of  the  club,  glass  in  hand,  and  shouted, 
"Aroha  i  te  revaraa!"  across  the  deserted  beach. 

So  we  left  Papeite,  the  gay  Tahitian  capital,  while  a 
slashing  downpour  drowned  the  gay  flamboyant  blos- 
soms, our  masts  and  rigging  creaking  in  the  gale,  and 
the  sea  breaking  white  on  the  coral  reef. 

Like  the  weeping  women,  who  doubtless  had  already 
dried  their  tears,  the  sky  began  to  smile  before  we 


6  WHITE  SHADOWS 

reached  the  treacherous  pass  in  the  outer  reef.  Be- 
yond Moto  Utu,  the  tiny  islet  in  the  harbor  that  had 
been  harem  and  fort  in  kingly  days,  we  saw  the  surf 
foaming  on  the  coral,  and  soon  were  through  the  nar- 
row channel. 

We  had  lifted  no  canvas  in  the  lagoon,  using  only  our 
engine  to  escape  the  coral  traps.  Past  the  ever-present 
danger,  with  the  wind  now  half  a  gale  and  the  rain 
falling  again  in  sheets — the  intermittent  deluge  of  the 
season — the  Morning  Star,  under  reefed  foresail,  main- 
sail and  staysail,  pointed  her  delicate  nose  toward  the 
Dangerous  Islands  and  hit  hard  the  open  sea. 

She  rode  the  endlessly-tossing  waves  like  a  sea-gull, 
carrying  her  head  with  a  care-free  air  and  dipping  to 
the  waves  in  jaunty  fashion.  Her  lines  were  very  fine, 
tapering  and  beautiful,  even  to  the  eye  of  a  land-lub- 
ber. 

A  hundred  and  six  feet  from  stem  to  stern,  twenty- 
three  feet  of  beam  and  ten  feet  of  depth,  she  was  loaded 
to  water's  edge  with  cargo  for  the  islands  to  which  we 
were  bound.  Lumber  lay  in  the  narrow  lanes  between 
cabin-house  and  rails ;  even  the  lifeboats  were  piled  with 
cargo.  Those  who  reckon  dangers  do  not  laugh  much  in 
these  seas.  There  was  barely  room  to  move  about  on 
the  deck  of  the  Morning  Star;  merely  a  few  steps  were 
possible  abaft  the  wheel  amid  the  play  of  main-sheet 
boom  and  traveler.  Here,  while  my  three  fellow-pas- 
sengers went  below,  I  stood  gazing  at  the  rain-whipped 
illimitable  waters  ahead. 

Where  is  the  boy  who  has  not  dreamed  of  the  cannibal 
isles,  those  strange,  fantastic  places  over  the  rim  of  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  7 

world,  where  naked  brown  men  move  like  shadows 
through  unimagined  jungles,  and  horrid  feasts  are  cele- 
brated to  the  "boom,  boom,  boom!"  of  the  twelve-foot 
drums? 

Years  bring  knowledge,  paid  for  with  the  dreams  of 
youth.  The  wide,  vague  world  becomes  familiar,  be- 
comes even  common-place.  London,  Paris,  Venice, 
many-colored  Cairo,  the  desecrated  crypts  of  the  pyra- 
mids, the  crumbling  villages  of  Palestine,  no  longer 
glimmer  before  me  in  the  iridescent  glamor  of  fancy, 
for  I  have  seen  them.  But  something  of  the  boyish 
thrill  that  filled  me  when  I  pored  over  the  pages  of 
Melville  long  ago  returned  while  I  stood  on  the  deck 
of  the  Morning  Star,  plunging  through  the  surging 
Pacific  in  the  driving  tropic  rain. 

Many  leagues  before  us  lay  Les  Isles  Dangereux, 
the  Low  Archipelago,  first  stopping-point  on  our 
journey  to  the  far  cannibal  islands  yet  another  thousand 
miles  away  across  the  empty  seas.  Before  we  saw  the 
green  banners  of  Tahiti's  cocoanut  palms  again  we 
would  travel  not  only  forward  over  leagues  of  tossing 
water  but  backward  across  centuries  of  time.  For  in 
those  islands  isolated  from  the  world  for  eons  there 

^r 

remains  a  living  fragment  of  the  childhood  of  our  Cau- 
casian race. 

Darwin's  theory  is  that  these  islands  are  the  tops  of 
a  submerged  continent,  or  land  bridge,  which  stretches 
its  crippled  body  along  the  floor  of  the  Pacific  for  thou- 
sands of  leagues.  A  lost  land,  whose  epic  awaits  the 
singer;  a  mystery  perhaps  forever  to  be  unsolved. 
There  are  great  monuments,  graven  objects,  hieroglyph- 


8  WHITE  SHADOWS 

ics,  customs  and  languages,  island  peoples  with  suggest- 
ive legends — all,  perhaps,  remnants  of  a  migration  from 
Asia  or  Africa  a  hundred  thousand  years  ago. 

Over  this  land  bridge,  mayhap,  ventured  the  Cauca- 
sian people,  the  dominant  blood  in  Polynesia  to-day,  and 
when  the  continent  fell  from  the  sight  of  sun  and  stars 
save  in  those  spots  now  the  mountainous  islands  like 
Tahiti  and  the  Marquesas,  the  survivors  were  isolated 
for  untold  centuries. 

Here  in  these  islands  the  brothers  of  our  long-forgot- 
ten ancestors  have  lived  and  bred  since  the  Stone  Age, 
cut  off  from  the  main  stream  of  mankind's  develop- 
ment. Here  they  have  kept  the  childhood  customs  of 
our  white  race,  savage  and  wild,  amid  their  primitive 
and  savage  life.  Here,  three  centuries  ago,  they  were 
discovered  by  the  peoples  of  the  great  world,  and,  rudely 
encountering  a  civilization  they  did  not  build,  they  are 
dying  here.  With  their  passing  vanishes  the  last  living 
link  with  our  own  pre-historic  past.  And  I  was  to  see 
it,  before  it  disappears  forever. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  trade-room  of  the  Morning  Star;  Lying  Bill  Pincher;  M.  L'Hermier 
des  Plantes,  future  governor  of  the  Marquesas;  story  of  McHenry  and 
the  little  native  boy,  His  Dog. 

COME  'ave  a  drink!"  Captain  Pincher  called  from 
the  cabin,  and  leaving  the  spray-swept  deck 
where  the  rain  drummed  on  the  canvas  awn- 
ing I  went  down  the  four  steps  into  the  narrow  cabin- 
house. 

The  cabin,  about  twenty  feet  long,  had  a  tiny  semi- 
private  room  for  Captain  Pincher,  and  four  berths 
ranged  about  a  table.  Here,  grouped  around  a  demi- 
john of  rum,  I  found  Captain  Pincher  with  my  three 
fellow-passengers;  McHenry  and  Gedge,  the  traders, 
and  M.  L'Hermier  des  Plantes,  a  young  officer  of  the 
French  colonial  army,  bound  to  the  Marquesas  to  be 
their  governor. 

The  captain  was  telling  the  story  of  the  wreck  in 
which  he  had  lost  his  former  ship.  He  had  tied  up  to 
a  reef  for  a  game  of  cards  with  a  like-minded  skipper, 
who  berthed  beside  him.  The  wind  changed  while  they 
slept.  Captain  Pincher  awoke  to  find  his  schooner 
breaking  her  backs  on  the  coral  rocks. 

"Oo  can  say  wot  the  blooming  wind  will  do?"  he  said, 
thumping  the  table  with  his  glass.  "There  was  Willy's 
schooner  tied  up  next  to  me,  and  'e  got  a  slant  and  slid 
away,  while  my  boat  busts  'er  sides  open  on  the  reef. 
The  'ole  blooming  atoll  was  'eaped  with  the  blooming 
cargo.  Willy  'ad  luck ;  I  'ad  'ell.  It 's  all  an  'azard." 


10  WHITE  SHADOWS 

He  had  not  found  his  aitches  since  he  left  Liverpool, 
thirty  years  earlier,  nor  dropped  his  silly  expletives. 
A  gray-haired,  red-faced,  laughing  man,  stockily  built, 
mild  mannered,  he  proved,  as  the  afternoon  wore  on,  to 
be  a  man  from  whom  Munchausen  might  have  gained 
a  story  or  two. 

"They  call  me  Lying  Bill,"  he  said  to  me.  "You 
can't  believe  wot  I  say." 

"He  's  straight  as  a  mango  tree,  Bill  Pincher  is," 
McHenry  asserted  loudly.  "He  's  a  terrible  liar  about 
stories,  but  he  's  the  best  seaman  that  comes  to  T'yti,  and 
square  as  a  biscuit  tin.  You  know  how,  when  that 
schooner  was  stole  that  he  was  mate  on,  and  the  rotten 
thief  run  away  with  her  and  a  woman,  Bill  he  went  after 
'em,  and  brought  the  schooner  back  from  Chile.  Bill, 
he  's  whatever  he  says  he  is,  all  right — but  he  can  sail  a 
schooner,  buy  copra  and  shell  cheap,  sell  goods  to  the 
bloody  natives,  and  bring  back  the  money  to  the  owners. 
That 's  what  I  call  an  honest  man." 

Lying  Bill  received  these  hearty  words  with  some- 
thing less  than  his  usual  good-humor.  There  was  no 
friendliness  in  his  eye  as  he  looked  at  McHenry,  whose 
empty  glass  remained  empty  until  he  himself  refilled 
it.  Bullet-headed,  beady-eyed,  a  chunk  of  rank  flesh 
shaped  by  a  hundred  sordid  adventures,  McHenry 
clutched  at  equality  with  these  men,  and  it  eluded  him. 
Lying  Bill,  making  no  reply  to  his  enthusiastic  com- 
mendation, retired  to  his  bunk  with  a  paper-covered 
novel,  and  to  cover  the  rebuff  McHenry  turned  to  talk 
of  trade  with  Gedge,  who  spoke  little. 

The  traderoom  of  the  Morning  Star,  opening  from 
the  cabin,  was  to  me  the  door  to  romance.  When  I  was 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  11 

a  boy  there  was  more  flavor  in  traderooms  than  in  war. 
To  have  seen  one  would  have  been  as  a  glimpse  of  the 
Holy  Grail  to  a  sworn  knight.  Those  traderooms  of 
my  youthful  imagination  smelt  of  rum  and  gun-powder, 
and  beside  them  were  racks  of  rifles  to  repel  the  dusky 
figures  coming  over  the  bulwarks. 

The  traderoom  of  the  Morning  Star  was  odorous, 
too.  It  had  no  window,  and  when  one  opened  the  door 
all  was  obscure  at  first,  while  smells  of  rank  Tahiti 
tobacco,  cheap  cotton  prints,  a  broken  bottle  of  perfume 
and  scented  soaps  struggled  for  supremacy.  Gradually 
the  eye  discovered  shelves  and  bins  and  goods  heaped 
from  floor  to  ceiling;  pins  and  anchors,  harpoons  and 
pens,  crackers  and  jewelry,  cloth,  shoes,  medicine  and 
tomahawks,  socks  and  writing  paper. 

Trade  business,  McHenry's  monologue  explained,  is 
not  what  it  was.  When  these  petty  merchants  dared 
not  trust  themselves  ashore  their  guns  guarded  against 
too  eager  customers.  But  now  almost  every  inhabited 
island  has  its  little  store,  and  the  trader  has  to  pursue 
his  buyers,  who  die  so  fast  that  he  must  move  from  island 
to  island  in  search  of  population. 

"Booze  is  boss,"  said  McHenry.  "I  have  two  thou- 
sand pounds  in  bank  in  Australia,  all  made  by  selling 
liquor  to  the  natives.  It 's  against  French  law  to  sell 
or  trade  or  give  'em  a  drop,  but  we  all  do  it.  If  you 
don't  have  it,  you  can't  get  cargo.  In  the  diving  season 
it 's  the  only  damn  thing  that  '11  pass.  The  divers  '11 
dig  up  from  five  to  fifteen  dollars  a  bottle  for  it,  de- 
pending on  the  French  being  on  the  job  or  not.  Ain't 
that  so,  Gedge?" 

"C'est  vrai"  Gedge  assented.     He  spoke  in  French, 


12  WHITE  SHADOWS 

ostensibly  for  the  benefit  of  M.  L'Hermier  des  Plantes. 
That  young  governor  of  the  Marquesas  was  not  given 
to  saying  much,  his  chief  interest  in  life  appearing  to  be 
an  ample  black  whisker,  to  which  he  devoted  incessant 
tender  care.  After  a  few  words  of  broken  English  he 
had  turned  a  negligent  attention  to  the  pages  of  a 
Marquesan  dictionary,  in  preparation  for  his  future 
labors  among  the  natives.  Gedge,  however,  continued 
to  talk  in  the  language  of  courts. 

It  was  obvious  that  McHenry's  twenty-five  years  in 
French  possessions  had  not  taught  him  the  white  man's 
language.  He  demanded  brusquely,  "What  are  you 
oui-oui-ing  for?"  and  occasionally  interjected  a  few 
words  of  bastard  French  in  an  attempt  to  be  jovial.  To 
this  Gedge  paid  little  attention. 

Gedge  was  chief  of  the  commercial  part  of  the  ex- 
pedition, and  his  manner  proclaimed  it.  Thin-lipped, 
cunning-eyed,  but  strong  and  self-reliant,  he  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  chances  of  trade.  He  had  been  twenty 
years  in  the  Marquesas  islands.  A  shrewd  man  among 
kanakas,  unscrupulous  by  his  own  account,  he  had  pros- 
pered. Now,  after  selling  his  business,  he  was  paying 
a  last  visit  to  his  long-time  home  to  settle  accounts. 

"  'Is  old  woman  is  a  barefoot  girl  among  the  canni- 
bals," Lying  Bill  said  to  me  later.  "  'E  'as  given  a 
'ole  army  of  ostriches  to  fortune,  'e  'as." 

One  of  Captain  Pincher's  own  sons  was  assistant  to 
the  engineer,  Ducat,  and  helped  in  the  cargo  work. 
The  lad  lived  forward  with  the  crew,  so  that  we  saw 
nothing  of  him  socially,  and  his  father  never  spoke  to 
him  save  to  give  an  order  or  a  reprimand.  Native  moth- 
ers mourn  often  the  lack  of  fatherly  affection  in  their 


Lieutenant  L'Hermier  des  Plantes,  Governor  of  the  Marquesas  Islands 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  13 

white  mates.  Illegitimate  children  are  held  cheap  by 
the  whites. 

For  two  days  at  sea  after  leaving  Papeite  we  did  not 
see  the  sun.  This  was  the  rainy  and  hot  season,  a  time 
of  calms  and  hurricanes,  of  sudden  squalls  and  madden- 
ing quietudes,  when  all  signs  fail  and  the  sailor  must 
stand  by  for  the  whims  of  the  wind  if  he  would  save 
himself  and  his  ship.  For  hours  we  raced  along  at  seven 
or  eight  knots,  with  a  strong  breeze  on  the  quarter  and 
the  seas  ruffling  about  our  prow.  For  still  longer  hours 
we  pushed  through  a  windless  calm  by  motor  power. 
Showers  fell  incessantty. 

We  lived  in  pajamas,  barefooted,  unshaven  and  un- 
washed. Fresh  water  was  limited,  as  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  replenish  our  casks  for  many  weeks.  Mc- 
Henry  said  it  was  not  difficult  to  accustom  one's  self 
to  lack  of  water,  both  externally  and  internally. 

There  was  a  demijohn  of  strong  Tahitian  rum  al- 
ways on  tap  in  the  cabin.  Here  we  sat  to  eat  and  re- 
mained to  drink  and  read  and  smoke.  There  was 
Bordeaux  wine  at  luncheon  and  dinner,  Martinique  and 
Tahitian  rum  and  absinthe  between  meals.  The  ship's 
bell  was  struck  by  the  steersman  every  half  hour,  and 
McHenry  made  it  the  knell  of  an  ounce. 

Captain  Pincher  took  a  jorum  every  hour  or  two 
and  retired  to  his  berth  and  novels,  leaving  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  Morning  Star  to  the  under-officers.  Ducat, 
the  third  officer,  a  Breton,  joined  us  at  meals.  He  was 
a  decent,  clever  fellow  in  his  late  twenties,  ambitious  and 
clear-headed,  but  youthfully  impressed  by  McHenry's 
self -proclaimed  wickedness. 

One  night  after  dinner  he  and  McHenry  were  ban- 


14  WHITE  SHADOWS 

tering  each  other  after  a  few  drinks  of  rum.  McHenry 
said,  "Say,  how  's  your  kanaka  woman?" 

Ducat's  fingers  tightened  on  his  glass.  Then,  speak- 
ing English  and  very  precisely,  he  asked,  "Do  you 
mean  my  wife?" 

"I  mean  your  old  woman.  What 's  this  wife  busi- 
ness?" 

"She  is  my  wife,  and  we  have  two  children." 

McHenry  grinned.  "I  know  all  that.  Did  n't  I 
know  her  before  you?  She  was  mine  first." 

Ducat  got  up.  We  all  got  up.  The  air  became 
tense,  and  in  the  silence  there  seemed  no  motion  of  ship 
or  wave.  I  said  to  myself,  "This  is  murder." 

Ducat,  very  pale,  an  inscrutable  look  on  his  face, 
his  black  eyes  narrowed,  said  quietly,  "Monsieur,  do 
you  mean  that?" 

"Why,  sure  I  do?  Why  should  n't  I  mean  it?  It 's 
true."  * 

None  of  us  moved,  but  it  was  as  if  each  of  us  stepped 
back,  leaving  the  two  men  facing  each  other.  In  this 
circle  no  one  would  interfere.  It  was  not  our  affair. 
Our  detachment  isolated  the  two — McHenry  quite 
drunk,  in  full  command  of  his  senses  but  with  no  con- 
trolling intelligence;  Ducat  not  at  all  drunk,  studying 
the  situation,  considering  in  his  rage  and  humiliation 
what  would  best  revenge  him  on  this  man. 

Ducat  spoke,  "McHenry,  come  out  of  this  cabin  with 
me." 

"What  for?" 

"Come  with  me." 

"Oh,  all  right,  all  right,"  McHenry  said. 

We  stepped  back  as  they  passed  us.     They  went  up 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  15 

the  steps  to  the  deck.  Ducat  paused  at  the  break  of 
the  poop  and  stood  there,  speaking  to  McHenry.  We 
could  not  hear  his  words.  The  schooner  tossed  idly,  a 
faint  creaking  of  the  rigging  came  down  to  us  in  the 
cabin.  The  same  question  was  in  every  eye.  Then 
Ducat  turned  on  his  heel,  and  McHenry  was  left  alone. 

Our  question  was  destined  to  remain  unanswered. 
Whatever  Ducat  had  said,  it  was  something  that  hushed 
McHenry  forever.  He  never  mentioned  the  subject 
again,  nor  did  any  of  us.  But  McHenry's  attitude 
had  subtly  changed.  Ducat's  words  had  destroyed  that 
last  secret  refuge  of  the  soul  in  which  every  man  keeps 
the  vestiges  of  self -justification  and  self-respect. 

McHenry  sought  me  out  that  night  while  I  sat  on 
the  cabin-house  gazing  at  the  great  stars  of  the  South- 
ern Cross,  and  began  to  talk. 

"Now  take  me,"  he  said,  "I  'm  not  so  bad.  I  'm  as 
good  as  most  people.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  ain't  done 
anything  more  in  my  life  than  anybody  'd  Ve  done,  if 
they  had  the  chance.  Look  at  me — I  had  a  singlet  an' 
a  pair  of  dungarees  when  I  landed  on  the  beach  in 
T'yti,  an'  look  at  me  now!  I  ain't  done  so  bad!" 

He  must  have  felt  the  unconvincing  ring  of  his  tone, 
lacking  the  full  and  complacent  self-assurance  usual 
to  it,  for  as  if  groping  for  something  to  make  good  the 
lack  he  sought  backward  through  his  memories  and  un- 
folded bit  by  bit  the  tale  of  his  experiences.  Scotch 
born  of  drunken  parents,  he  had  been  reared  in  the 
slums  of  American  cities  and  the  forecastles  of  Ameri- 
can ships.  A  waif,  newsboy,  loafer,  gang-fighter  and 
water-front  pirate,  he  had  come  into  the  South  Seas 
twenty-five  years  earlier,  shanghaied  when  drunk  in 


16  WHITE  SHADOWS 

San  Francisco.  He  looked  back  proudly  on  a  quarter 
of  a  century  of  trading,  thieving,  selling  contraband 
rum  and  opium,  pearl-buying  and  gambling. 

But  this  pride  on  which  he  had  so  long  depended  failed 
him  now.  Successful  fights  that  he  had  waged,  profit- 
able crimes  committed,  grew  pale  upon  his  tongue. 
Listening  in  the  darkness  while  the  engine  drove  us 
through  a  black  sea  and  the  canvas  awning  flapped  over- 
head, I  felt  the  baffled  groping  behind  his  words. 

"So  I  don't  take  nothing  from  no  man!"  he  boasted, 
and  fell  into  uneasy  silence.  "The  folks  in  these  islands 
know  me,  all  right!"  he  asserted,  and  again  was  dumb. 

"Now  there  was  a  kid,  a  little  Penryn  boy,"  he  said 
suddenly.  "When  I  was  a  trader  on  Penryn  he  was 
there,  and  he  used  to  come  around  my  store.  That 
kid  liked  me.  Why,  that  kid,  he  was  crazy  about  me! 
It 's  a  fact,  he  was  crazy  about  me,  that  kid  was." 

His  voice  was  fumbling  back  toward  its  old  assur- 
ance, but  there  was  wonder  in  it,  as  though  he  was  in- 
credulous of  this  foothold  he  had  stumbled  upon.  He 
repeated,  "That  kid  was  crazy  about  me! 

"He  used  to  hang  around,  and  help  me  with  the 
canned  goods,  and  he  'd  go  fishing  with  me,  and  shoot- 
ing. He  was  a  regular — what  do  you  call  'em?  These 
dogs  that  go  after  things  for  you?  He  'd  go  under  the 
water  and  bring  in  the  big  fish  for  me.  And  he  liked 
to  do  it.  You  never  saw  anything  like  the  way  that 
kid  was. 

"I  used  to  let  him  come  into  the  store  and  hang 
around,  you  know.  Not  that  I  cared  anything  for  the 
kid  myself;  I  ain't  that  kind.  But  I  'd  just  give  him 
some  tinned  biscuits  now  and  then,  the  way  you  'd  do. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  17 

He  did  n't  have  no  father  or  mother.  His  father  had 
been  eaten  by  a  shark,  and  his  mother  was  dead.  The 
kid  did  n't  have  any  name  because  his  mother  had  died 
so  young  he  had  n't  got  any  name,  and  his  father  had  n't 
called  him  anything  but  boy.  He  give  himself  a  name 
to  me,  and  that  was  'Your  Dog.' 

"He  called  himself  my  dog,  you  see.  But  his  name 
for  it  was  Your  Dog,  and  that  was  because  he  fetched 
and  carried  for  me,  like  as  if  he  was  one.  He  was  that 
kind  of  kid.  Not  that  I  paid  much  attention  to  him. 

"You  know  there  's  a  leper  settlement  on  Penryn, 
off  across  the  lagoon.  I  ain't  afraid  of  leprosy 
y'  understand,  because  I  've  dealt  with  'em  for  years, 
ate  with  'em  an'  slept  with  'em,  an'  all  that,  like  every- 
body down  here.  But  all  the  same  I  don't  want  to  have 
'em  right  around  me  all  the  time.  So  one  day  the 
doctor  come  to  look  over  the  natives,  and  he  come  an' 
told  me  the  little  kid,  My  Dog,  was  a  leper. 

"Now  I  was  n't  attached  to  the  kid.  I  ain't  attached 
to  nobody.  I  ain't  that  kind  of  a  man.  But  the  kid 
was  sort  of  used  to  me,  and  I  was  used  to  havin'  him 
around.  He  used  to  come  in  through  the  window. 
He  'd  just  come  in,  nights,  and  sit  there  an'  never 
say  a  word.  When  I  was  goin'  to  bed  he  'd  say,  'Mc- 
Henry,  Your  Dog  is  goin'  now,  but  can't  Your  Dog 
sleep  here?'  Well,  I  used  to  let  him  sleep  on  the  floor, 
no  harm  in  that.  But  if  he  was  a  leper  he  'd  got  to 
go  to  the  settlement,  so  I  told  him  so. 

"He  made  such  a  fuss,  cryin'  around — By  God,  I 
had  to  boot  him  out  of  the  place.  I  said:  'Get  out. 
I  don't  want  you  snivelin'  around  me.'  So  he  went. 

"It 's  a  rotten,  God-forsaken  place,  I  guess.     I  don't 


18  WHITE  SHADOWS 

know.  The  government  takes  care  of  'em.  It  ain't 
my  affair.  I  guess  for  a  leper  colony  it  ain't  so  bad. 

"Anyway,  I  was  goin'  to  sell  out  an'  leave  Penryn. 
The  diving  season  was  over.  One  night  I  had  the  door 
locked  an'  was  goin'  over  my  accounts  to  see  if  I 
could  n't  collect  some  more  dough  from  the  natives.  I 
heard  a  noise,  and  By  God!  there  comin'  through  the 
window  was  My  Dog.  He  come  up  to  me,  and  I  said : 
'Stand  away,  there!'  I  ain't  afraid  of  leprosy,  hut 
there  's  no  use  takin'  chances.  You  never  know. 

"Well  sir,  that  kid  threw  himself  down  on  the  floor, 
and  he  said,  'McHenry,  I  knowed  you  was  goin'  away 
and  I  had  to  come  to  see  you.'  That 's  what  he  said 
in  his  Kanaka  lingo. 

"He  was  cryin',  and  he  looked  pretty  bad.  He  said 
he  couldn't  stand  the  settlement.  He  said,  'I  don't 
never  see  you  there.  Can't  I  live  here  an'  be  Your 
Dog  again?' 

"I  said,  'You  got  to  go  to  the  settlement.'  I  was  n't 
goin'  to  get  into  trouble  on  account  of  no  Kanaka  kid. 

"Now,  that  kid  had  swum  about  five  miles  in  the 
night,  with  sharks  all  around  him — the  very  place  where 
his  father  had  gone  into  a  shark.  That  kid  thought 
a  lot  of  me.  Well,  I  made  him  go  back.  'If  you  don't 
go,  the  doctor  will  come,  an'  then  you  got  to  go,'  I 
said.  'You  better  get  out.  I  'm  goin'  away,  anyhow,' 
I  said.  I  was  figuring  on  my  accounts,  an'  I  didn't 
want  to  be  bothered  with  no  fool  kid. 

"Well,  he  hung  around  awhile,  makin'  a  fuss,  till  I 
opened  the  door  an'  told  him  to  git.  Then  he  went 
quiet  enough.  He  went  right  down  the  beach  into 
the  water  an'  swum  away,  back  to  the  settlement. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  19 

"Now  look  here,  that  kid  liked  me.  He  knowed  me 
well,  too — he  was  around  my  store  pretty  near  all  the 
time  I  was  in  Penryn.  He  was  a  fool  kid.  My 
Dog,  that  was  the  name  he  give  himself.  An'  while 
I  was  in  T'yti,  here,  I  get  a  letter  from  the  trader  that 
took  over  my  store,  and  he  sent  me  a  letter  from  that 
kid.  It  was  wrote  in  Kanaka.  He  could  n't  write 
much,  but  a  little.  Here,  I  '11  show  you  the  letter. 
You  '11  see  what  that  kid  thought  of  me." 

In  the  light  from  the  open  cabin  window  I  read  the 
letter,  painfully  written  on  cheap,  blue-lined  paper. 

"Greetings  to  you,  McHenry,  in  Tahiti,  from  Your 
Dog.  It  is  hard  to  live  without  you.  It  is  long  since  I 
have  seen  you.  It  is  hard.  I  go  to  join  my  father. 
I  give  myself  to  the  mako.  To  you,  McHenry,  from 
Your  Dog,  greetings  and  farewell." 

Across  the  bottom  of  the  letter  was  written  in  Eng- 
lish: "The  kid  disappeared  from  the  leper  settlement. 
They  think  he  drowned  himself." 


CHAPTER  III 

Thirty-seven  days  at  sea;  life  of  the  sea-birds;  strange  phosphorescence; 
first  sight  of  Fatu-hiva;  history  of  the  islands;  chant  of  the  Raiateans. 

THIRTY-SEVEN  days  at  sea  brought  us  to  the 
eve  of  our  landing  in  Hiva-oa  in  the  Marquesas. 
Thirty-seven  monotonous  days,  varied  only  by 
rain-squalls  and  sun,  by  calm  or  threatening  seas,  by 
the  changing  sky.  Rarely  a  passing  schooner  lifted 
its  sail  above  the  far  circle  of  the  horizon.  It  was  as 
though  we  journeyed  through  space  to  another  world. 
Yet  all  around  us  there  was  life — life  in  a  thousand 
varying  forms,  filling  the  sea  and  the  air.  On  calm 
mornings  the  swelling  waves  were  splashed  by  myriads 
of  leaping  fish,  the  sky  was  the  playground  of  innumera- 
ble birds,  soaring,  diving,  following  their  accustomed 
ways  through  their  'own  strange  world  oblivious  of  the 
human  creatures  imprisoned  on  a  bit  of  wood  below 
them.  Surrounded  by  a  universe  filled  with  pulsing, 
sentient  life  clothed  in  such  multitudinous  forms,  man 
learns  humility.  He  shrinks  to  a  speck  on  an  illimitable 
ocean. 

I  spent  long  afternoons  lying  on  the  cabin-house, 
watching  the  frigates,  the  tropics,  gulls,  boobys,  and 
other  sea-birds  that  sported  through  the  sky  in  great 
numbers.  The  frigate-birds  were  called  by  the  sailors 
the  man-of-war  bird,  and  also  the  sea-hawk.  They 

are  marvelous  flyers,  owing  to  the  size  of  the  pectoral 

20 


A  road  in   Nuka-Hiva 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  21 

muscles,  which  compared  with  those  of  other  birds  are 
extraordinarily  large.  They  cannot  rest  on  the  water, 
but  must  sustain  their  flights  from  land  to  land,  yet 
here  they  were  in  mid-ocean. 

My  eyes  would  follow  one  higher  and  higher  till  he 
became  a  mere  dot  in  the  blue,  though  but  a  few  min- 
utes earlier  he  had  risen  from  his  pursuit  of  fish  in  the 
water.  He  spread  his  wings  fully  and  did  not  move 
them  as  he  climbed  from  air-level  to  air-level,  but  his 
long  forked  tail  expanded  and  closed  continuously. 

Sighting  a  school  of  flying-fish,  which  had  been  driven 
to  frantic  leaps  from  the  sea  by  pursuing  bonito,  he 
begins  to  descend.  First  his  coming  down  is  like  that 
of  an  aeroplane,  in  spirals,  but  a  thousand  feet  from 
his  prey  he  volplanes ;  he  falls  like  a  rocket,  and  seizing 
a  fish  in  the  air,  he  wings  his  way  again  to  the  clouds. 

If  he  cannot  find  flying-fish,  he  stops  gannets  and 
terns  in  mid-air  and  makes  them  disgorge  their  catch, 
which  he  seizes  as  it  falls.  Refusal  to  give  up  the  food 
is  punished  by  blows  on  the  head,  but  the  gannets  and 
terns  so  fear  the  frigate  that  they  seldom  have  the 
courage  to  disobey.  I  think  a  better  name  for  the 
frigate  would  be  pirate,  for  he  is  a  veritable  pirate  of 
the  air.  Yet  no  law  restrains  him. 

I  observed  that  the  male  frigate  has  a  red  pouch 
under  the  throat  which  he  puffs  up  with  air  when  he  flies 
far.  It  must  have  some  other  purpose,  for  the  female 
lacks  it,  and  she  needs  wind-power  more  than  the  male. 
It  is  she  who  seeks  the  food  when,  having  laid  her  one 
egg  on  the  sand,  she  goes  abroad,  leaving  her  husband 
to  keep  the  egg  warm. 

The    tropic-bird,    often    called    the    boatswain,    or 


22  WHITE  SHADOWS 

phaeton,  also  climbs  to  great  heights,  and  is  seldom 
found  out  of  these  latitudes.  He  is  a  beautiful  bird, 
white,  or  rose-colored  with  long  carmine  tail-feathers. 
In  the  sun  these  roseate  birds  are  brilliant  objects  as 
they  fly  jerkily  against  the  bright  blue  sky",  or  skim 
over  the  sea,  rising  and  falling  in  their  search  for  fish. 
I  have  seen  them  many  times  with  the  frigates,  with 
whom  they  are  great  friends.  It  would  appear  that 
there  is  a  bond  between  them;  I  have  never  seen  the 
frigate  rob  his  beautiful  companion. 

In  such  idle  observations  and  the  vague  wonders  that 
arose  from  them,  the  days  passed.  An  interminable 
game  of  cards  progressed  in  the  cabin,  in  which  I  occa- 
sionally took  a  hand.  Gedge  and  Lying  Bill  exchanged 
reminiscences.  McHenry  drank  steadily.  The  future 
governor  of  the  Marquesas  added  a  galon  to  his  sleeves, 
marking  his  advance  to  a  first  lieutenancy  in  the  French 
colonial  army.  He  was  a  very  soft,  sleek  man,  a  little 
worn  already,  his  black  hair  a  trifle  thin,  but  he  was 
plump,  his  skin  white  as  milk,  and  his  jetty  beard  and 
mustache  elaborately  cared  for.  He  was  much  before 
the  mirror,  combing  and  brushing  and  plucking.  Com- 
pared to  us  unkempt  wretches,  he  was  as  a  dandy  to  a 
tramp. 

The  ice,  which  was  packed  in  boxes  of  sawdust  on 
deck,  afforded  one  cold  drink  in  which  to  toast  the 
gallant  future  governor,  and  that  was  the  last  of  it.  At 
night  the  Tahitian  sailors  helped  themselves,  and  we 
bade  farewell  to  ice  until  once  more  we  saw  Papeite. 

It  was  no  refreshment  to  reflect  that  had  we  dredging 
apparatus  long  enough  we  could  procure  from  the  sea- 
bottom  buckets  of  ooze  that  would  have  cooled  our 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  23 

drinks  almost  to  the  freezing  point.  Scientists  have 
done  this.  Lying  Bill  was  loth  to  believe  the  story 
and  the  explanation,  that  an  icy  stream  flows  from  the 
Antarctic  through  a  deep  valley  in  the  sea-depths. 

"It 's  contrar-iry  to  nature,"  he  affirmed.  "The 
depper  you  go  the  'otter  it  is.  In  mines  the  'eat  is 
worse  the  farther  down.  And  'ow  about  'ell?" 

I  slept  on  the  deck.  It  was  sickeningly  hot  below. 
The  squalls  had  passed,  and  as  we  neared  Hiva-oa  the 
sea  became  glassy  smooth,  but  the  leagues-long,  lazy 
roll  of  it  rocked  the  schooner  like  a  cradle. 

The  night  before  the  islands  were  to  come  into  view 
the  sea  was  lit  by  phosphorescence  so  magnificently  that 
even  my  shipmates,  absorbed  in  ecarte  below,  called  to 
one  another  to  view  it.  The  engine  took  us  along  at 
about  six  knots,  and  every  gentle  wave  that  broke  was  a 
lamp  of  loveliness.  The  wake  of  the  Morning  Star 
was  a  milky  path  lit  with  trembling  fragments  of  bril- 
liancy, and  below  the  surface,  beside  the  rudder,  was  a 
strip  of  green  light  from  which  a  billion  sparks  of  fire 
shot  to  the  air.  Far  behind,  until  the  horizon  closed 
upon  the  ocean,  our  wake  was  curiously  remindful  of 
the  boulevard  of  a  great  city  seen  through  a  mist,  the 
lights  fading  in  the  dim  distance,  but  sparkling  still. 

I  went  forward  and  stood  by  the  cathead.  The  blue 
water  stirred  by  the  bow  was  wonderfully  bright,  a 
mass  of  coruscating  phosphorescence  that  lighted  the 
prow  like  a  lamp.  It  was  as  if  lightning  played  be- 
neath the  waves,  so  luminous,  so  scintillating  the  water 
and  its  reflection  upon  the  ship. 

The  living  organisms  of  the  sea  were  en  fete  that 
night,  as  though  to  celebrate  my  coming  to  the  islands 


24  WHITE  SHADOWS 

of  which  I  had  so  long  dreamed.  I  smiled  at  the  fancy, 
well  knowing  that  the  minute  pyrocistis,  having  come  to 
the  surface  during  the  calm  that  followed  the  storms, 
were  showing  in  that  glorious  fire  the  panic  caused 
among  them  by  the  cataclysm  of  our  passing.  But  the 
individual  is  ever  an  egoist.  It  seems  to  man  that  the 
universe  is  a  circle  about  him  and  his  affairs.  It  may 
as  well  seem  the  same  to  the  pyrocistis. 

Far  about  the  ship  the  waves  twinkled  in  green  fire, 
disturbed  even  by  the  ruffling  breeze.  I  drew  up  a 
bucketful  of  the  water.  In  the  darkness  of  the  cabin  it 
gave  no  light  until  I  passed  my  hand  through  it.  That 
was  like  opening  a  door  into  a  room  flooded  by  elec- 
tricity; the  table,  the  edges  of  the  bunks,  the  uninter- 
ested faces  of  my  shipmates,  leaped  from  the  shadows. 
Marvels  do  not  seem  marvelous  to  men  to  live  among 
them. 

I  lay  long  awake  on  deck,  watching  the  eerily  lighted 
sea  and  the  great  stars  that  hung  low  in  the  sky,  and 
to  my  fancy  it  seemed  that  the  air  had  changed,  that 
some  breath  from  the  isles  before  us  had  softened  the 
salty  tang  of  the  sea-breeze. 

Land  loomed  at  daybreak,  dark,  gloomy,  and  in- 
hospitable. Rain  fell  drearily  as  we  passed  Fatu-hiva, 
the  first  of  the  Marquesas  Islands  sighted  from  the 
south.  We  had  climbed  from  Tahiti,  seventeen  degrees 
south  of  the  equator,  to  between  eleven  and  ten  degrees 
south,  and  we  had  made  a  westward  of  ten  degrees. 
The  Marquesas  Islands  lay  before  us,  dull  spots  of 
dark  rock  upon  the  gray  water. 

They  are  not  large,  any  of  these  islands;  sixty  or 
seventy  miles  is  the  greatest  circumference.  Some  of 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  25 

the  eleven  are  quite  small,  and  have  no  people  now. 
On  the  map  of  the  world  they  are  the  tiniest  pin-pricks. 
Few  dwellers  in  Europe  or  America  know  anything 
about  them.  Most  travelers  have  never  heard  of  them. 
No  liners  touch  them ;  no  wire  or  wireless  connects  them 
with  the  world.  No  tourists  visit  them.  Their  people 
perish.  Their  trade  languishes.  In  Tahiti,  whence 
they  draw  almost  all  their  sustenance,  where  their  laws 
are  made,  and  to  which  they  look  at  the  capital  of  the 
world,  only  a  few  men,  who  traded  here,  could  tell  me 
anything  about  the  Marquesas.  These  men  had  only 
the  vague,  exaggerated  ideas  of  the  sailor,  who  goes 
ashore  once  or  twice  a  year  and  knows  nothing  of  the 
native  life. 

Seven  hundred  and  fifty  miles  as  the  frigate  flies 
separates  these  islands  from  Tahiti,  but  no  distance 
can  measure  the  difference  between  the  happiness  of 
Tahiti,  the  sparkling,  brilliant  loveliness  of  that  flower- 
decked  island,  and  the  stern,  forbidding  aspect  of  the 
Marquesas  lifting  from  the  sea  as  we  neared  them. 
Gone  were  the  laughing  vales,  the  pale-green  hills,  the 
luring,  feminine  guise  of  nature,  the  soft-lapping  waves 
upon  a  peaceful,  shining  shore.  The  spirit  that  rides 
the  thunder  had  claimed  these  bleak  and  desolate  islands 
for  his  own. 

While  the  schooner  made  her  way  cautiously  past 
the  grim  and  rocky  headlands  of  Fatu-hiva  I  was  over- 
whelmed with  a  feeling  of  solemnity,  of  sadness;  such 
a  feeling  as  I  have  known  to  sweep  over  an  army  the 
night  before  a  battle,  when  letters  are  written  to  loved 
ones  and  comrades  entrusted  with  messages. 

That  gaunt,  dark  shore  itself  recalls  that  the  history 


26  WHITE  SHADOWS 

of  the  Marquesas  is  written  in  blood,  a  black  spot  on  the 
white  race.  It  is  a  history  of  evil  wrought  by  civiliza- 
tion, of  curses  heaped  on  a  strange,  simple  people  by 
men  who  sought  to  exploit  them  or  to  mold  them  to 
another  pattern,  who  destroyed  their  customs  and  their 
happiness  and  left  them  to  die,  apathetic,  wretched, 
hardly  knowing  their  own  miserable  plight. 

The  French  have  had  their  flag  over  the  Marquesas 
since  1842.  In  1521  Magellan  must  have  passed  be- 
tween the  Marquesas  and  Paumotas,  but  he  does  not 
mention  them.  Seventy-three  years  later  a  Spanish 
flotilla  sent  from  Callao  by  Don  Garcia  Hurtado  de 
Mendoza,  viceroy  of  Peru,  found  this  island  of  Fatu- 
hiva,  and  its  commander,  Mendafia,  named  the  group 
for  the  viceroy's  lady,  Las  Islas  Marquesas  de  Mendoza. 

One  hundred  and  eighty  years  passed,  and  Captain 
Cook  again  discovered  the  islands,  and  a  Frenchman, 
Etienne  Marchand,  discovered  the  northern  group. 
The  fires  of  liberty  were  blazing  high  in  his  home  land, 
and  Marchand  named  his  group  the  Isles  of  the  Revo- 
lution, in  celebration  of  the  victories  of  the  French 
people.  A  year  earlier  an  American,  Ingraham,  had 
sighted  this  same  group  and  given  it  the  name  of  his 
own  beloved  hero,  Washington. 

Had  not  Captain  Porter  failed  to  establish  Ameri- 
can rule  in  1813  in  the  island  of  Nuka-hiva,  which  he 
called  Madison,  the  Marquesas  might  have  been  Ameri- 
can. Porter's  name,  like  that  of  Mendafia,  is  linked 
with  deeds  of  cruelty.  The  Spaniard  was  without  pity; 
the  American  may  plead  that  his  killings  were  reprisals 
or  measures  of  safety  for  himself.  Murder  of  Poly- 
nesians was  little  thought  of.  Schooners  trained  their 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  27 

guns  on  islands  for  pleasure  or  practice,  and  destroyed 
villages  with  all  their  inhabitants. 

"To  put  the  fear  of  God  in  the  nigger's  hearts,"  were 
the  words  of  many  a  sanguinary  captain  and  crew. 
They  did  not,  of  course,  mean  that  literally.  They 
meant  the  fear  of  themselves,  and  of  all  whites.  They 
used  the  name  of  God  in  vain,  for  after  a  century  and 
more  of  such  intermittent  effort  the  Polynesians  have 
small  fear  or  faith  for  the  God  of  Christians,  despite 
continuous  labors  of  missionaries.  God  seems  to  have 
forgotten  them. 

The  French  made  the  islands  their  political  posses- 
sions with  little  difficulty.  The  Marquesans  had  no  king 
or  single  chief.  There  were  many  tribes  and  clans, 
and  it  was  easy  to  persuade  or  compel  petty  chiefs  to 
sign  declarations  and  treaties.  But  it  was  not  easy 
to  kill  the  independence  of  the  people,  and  France 
virtually  abandoned  and  retook  the  islands  several  times, 
her  rule  fluctuating  with  political  conditions  at  home. 
There  were  wars,  horrible,  bloody  scenes,  when  the 
clansmen  slew  the  whites  and  ate  them,  and  the  bones 
of  many  a  gallant  French  officer  and  sea-captain  have 
moldered  where  they  were  heaped  after  the  orgy  fol- 
lowing victory.  But,  as  always,  the  white  slew  his 
hundreds  to  the  natives'  one,  and  in  time  he  drove  the 
devil  of  liberty  and  defense  of  native  land  from  the 
heart  of  the  Marquesan. 

Before  the  French  achieved  this,  however,  the  white 
had  sowed  a  crop  of  deadly  evils  among  the  Marquesans 
that  cut  them  down  faster  than  war,  and  left  them 
desolate,  dying,  passing  to  extinction. 

As  I  looked  from  the  deck  of  the  Morning  Star  I  was 


28  WHITE  SHADOWS 

struck  by  the  fittingness  of  the  scene.  Fatu-hiva  had 
been  left  behind  and  Hiva-oa,  our  destination,  was  be- 
fore us,  bleak  and  threatening.  To  my  eyes  it  appeared 
as  it  had  been  in  the  eyes  of  the  gentler  Polynesians 
of  old  time,  the  abode  of  demons  and  of  a  race  of  ter- 
rible warriors.  Hence  descended  the  Marquesans,  vi- 
kings of  the  Pacific,  in  giant  canoes,  and  sprang  upon 
the  fighting  men  of  the  Tahitians,  the  Raiateans  and 
the  Paumotans,  slaughtering  their  hundreds  and  carry- 
ing away  scores  to  feast  upon  in  the  High  Places. 

"  Mauri  i  te  popoi  a  ee  i  te  au  marere  i  hiti  tovau. 
la  tari  a  oe.     Tari  a  rutu  mai  i  hea? 
A  rutu  mai  i  toerau  i  hitia! 

0  te  au  marere  i  hiti  atu  a  Vaua  a  rutu  i  reira 
A  rutu  i  toerau  roaf 

Areare  te  hai  o  Nu'u-hiva  roa. 

1  te  are  e  huti  te  tai  a  Vavea." 

"  The  spirit  of  the  morning  rides  the  flying  vapor  that  rises 

salt  from  the  sea. 

Bear  on!     Bear  on!     And  strike — where? 
Strike  to  the  northeast ! 

The  vapor  flies  to  the  far  rim  of  the  Sea  of  Atolls. 
Strike  there !     Strike  far  north ! 

The  sea  casts  up  distant  Nuka-Hiva,  Land  of  the  War  Fleet, 
where  the  waves  are  towering  billows." 

This  was  the  ancient  chant  of  the  Raiateans,  sung 
in  the  old  days  before  the  whites  came,  when  they 
thought  of  the  deeds  that  were  done  by  the  more-than- 
human  men  who  lived  on  these  desolate  islands. 


1 


§  I 

la 

c« 


CHAPTER  IV 

Anchorage  of  Taha-Uka;  Exploding  Eggs,  and  his  engagement  as  valet; 
inauguration  of  the  new  governor;  dance  on  the  palace  lawn. 

AS  we  approached  Hiva-oa  the  giant  height  of 
Temetiu  slowly  lifted  four  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  swathed  in  blackest  clouds.  Below, 
purple-black  valleys  came  one  by  one  into  view,  murky 
caverns  of  dank  vegetation.  Towering  precipices, 
seamed  and  riven,  rose  above  the  vast  welter  of  the 
gray  sea. 

Slowly  we  crept  into  the  wide  Bay  of  Traitors  and 
felt  our  way  into  the  anchorage  of  Taha-Uka,  a  long 
and  narrow  passage  between  frowning  cliffs,  spray- 
dashed  walls  of  granite  lashed  fiercely  by  the  sea.  All 
along  the  bluffs  were  cocoanut-palms,  magnificent,  wav- 
ing their  green  fronds  in  the  breeze.  Darker  green, 
the  mountains  towered  above  them,  and  far  on  the 
higher  slopes  we  saw  wild  goats  leaping  from  crag  to 
crag  and  wild  horses  running  in  the  upper  valleys. 

A  score  or  more  of  white  ribbons  depended  from  the 
lofty  heights,  and  through  the  binoculars  I  saw  them  to 
be  waterfalls.  They  were  like  silver  cords  swaying 
in  the  wind,  and  when  brought  nearer  by  the  glasses, 
I  saw  that  some  of  them  were  heavy  torrents  while 
others,  gauzy  as  wisps  of  chiffon,  hardly  veiled  the  black 
walls  behind  them. 

The  whole  island  dripped.  The  air  was  saturated, 
the  decks  were  wet,  and  along  the  shelves  of  basalt  that 

29 


30  WHITE  SHADOWS 

jutted  from  the  cliffs  a  hundred  blow-holes  spouted  and 
roared.  In  ages  of  endeavor  the  ocean  had  made  cham- 
bers in  the  rock  and  cut  passages  to  the  top,  through 
which,  at  every  surge  of  the  pounding  waves,  the  water 
rushed  andTose  high  in  the  air. 

Iron-bound,  the  mariner  calls  this  coast,  and  the  word 
makes  one  see  the  powerful,  severe  mold  of  it.  Molten 
rock  fused  in  subterranean  fires  and  cast  above  the  sea 
cooled  into  these  ominous  ridges  and  stern  unyielding 
walls. 

There  upon  the  deck  I  determined  not  to  leave  until 
I  had  lived  for  a  time  amid  these  wild  scenes.  My 
intention  had  been  to  voyage  with  the  Morning  Star, 
returning  with  her  to  Tahiti,  but  a  mysterious  voice 
called  to  me  from  the  dusky  valleys.  I  could  not  leave 
without  penetrating  into  those  abrupt  and  melancholy 
depths  of  forest,  without  endeavoring,  though  ever  so 
feebly,  to  stir  the  cold  brew  of  legend  and  tale  fast  dis- 
appearing in  stupor  and  forgetfulness. 

Lying  Bill  protested  volubly;  he  liked  company  and 
would  regret  my  contribution  to  the  expense  account. 
Gedge  joined  him  in  serious  opposition  to  the  plan, 
urging  that  I  would  not  be  able  to  find  a  place  to  live, 
that  there  was  no  hotel,  club,  lodging,  or  food  for  a 
stranger.  But  I  was  determined  to  stay,  though  I  must 
sleep  under  a  breadfruit-tree.  As  I  was  a  mere  roamer, 
with  no  calendar  or  even  a  watch,  I  had  but  to  fetch 
my  few  belongings  ashore  and  be  a  Marquesan.  These 
belongings  I  gathered  together,  and  finding  me  obdu- 
rate, Lying  Bill  reluctantly  agreed  to  set  them  on  the 
beach. 

On  either  side  of  Taha-Uka  inlet  are  landing-places, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  81 

one  in  front  of  a  store,  the  other  leading  only  to  the 
forest.  These  are  stairways  cut  in  the  basaltic  wall  of 
the  cliffs,  and  against  them  the  waves  pound  continu- 
ously. The  beach  of  Taha-Uka  was  a  mile  from  where 
we  lay  and  not  available  for  traffic,  but  around  a  shoul- 
der of  the  bluffs  was  hidden  the  tiny  bay  of  Atuona, 
where  goods  could  be  landed. 

While  we  discussed  this,  around  those  jutting  rocks 
shot  a  small  out-rigger  canoe,  frail  and  hardly  large 
enough  to  hold  the  body  of  a  slender  Marquesan  boy 
who  paddled  it.  About  his  middle  he  wore  a  red  and 
yellow  pareu,  and  his  naked  body  was  like  a  small  and 
perfect  statue  as  he  handled  his  tiny  craft.  When 
he  came  over  the  side  I  saw  that  he  was  about  thirteen 
years  old  and  very  handsome,  tawny  in  complexion,  with 
regular  features  and  an  engaging  smile. 

His  name,  he  said,  was  Nakohu,  which  means  Ex- 
ploding Eggs.  This  last  touch  was  all  that  was  needed ; 
without  further  ado  I  at  once  engaged  him  as  valet  for 
the  period  of  my  stay  in  the  Marquesas.  His  duties 
would  be  to  help  in  conveying  my  luggage  ashore,  to 
aid  me  in  the  mysteries  of  cooking  breadfruit  and  such 
other  edibles  as  I  might  discover,  and  to  converse  with 
me  in  Marquesan.  In  return,  he  was  to  profit  by  the 
honor  of  being  attached  to  my  person,  by  an  option  on 
such  small  articles  as  I  might  leave  behind  on  my  de- 
parture, and  by  the  munificent  salary  of  about  five  cents 
a  day.  His  gratitude  and  delight  knew  no  bounds. 

Hardly  had  the  arrangement  been  made,  when  a 
whaleboat  rowed  by  Marquesans  followed  in  the  wake 
of  the  canoe,  and  a  tall,  rangy  Frenchman  climbed 
aboard  the  Morning  Star.  He  was  Monsieur  Andre 


32  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Bauda,  agent  special,  commissaire,  postmaster;  a  beau 
sabreur,  veteran  of  many  campaigns  in  Africa,  dressed 
in  khaki,  medals  on  his  chest,  full  of  gay  words  and 
fierce  words,  drinking  his  rum  neat,  and  the  pink  of 
courtesy.  He  had  come  to  examine  the  ship's  papers, 
and  to  receive  the  new  governor. 

'A  look  of  blank  amazement  appeared  upon  the  round 
face  of  M.  L'Hermier  des  Plantes  when  it  was  conveyed 
to  him  that  this  solitary  whaleboat  had  brought  a  soli- 
tary white  to  welcome  him  to  his  seat  of  government. 
He  had  been  assiduously  preparing  for  his  reception  for 
many  hours  and  was  immaculately  dressed  in  white 
duck,  his  legs  in  high,  brightly-polished  boots,  his  two 
stripes  in  velvet  on  his  sleeve,  and  his  military  cap  shin- 
ing. He  knew  no  more  about  the  Marquesas  than  I, 
having  come  directly  via  Tahiti  from  France,  and  he 
was  plainly  dumfounded  and  dismayed.  Was  all  that 
tender  care  of  his  whiskers  to  be  wasted  on  scenery? 

However,  after  a  drink  or  two  he  resignedly  took  his 
belongings,  and  dropping  into  the  wet  and  dirty  boat 
with  Bauda,  he  lifted  an  umbrella  over  his  gaudy  cap 
and  disappeared  in  the  rain. 

"  'E  's  got  a  bloomin'  nice  place  to  live  in,"  remarked 
Lying  Bill.  "Now,  if  'e  'd  a-been  'ere  when  I  come 
'e  'd  a-seen  something!  I  come  'ere  thirty-five  years 
ago  when  I  was  a  young  kid.  I  come  with  a  skipper 
and  I  was  the  only  crew.  Me  and  him,  and  I  was 
eighteen,  and  the  boat  was  the  Victor.  I  lived  'ere  and 
about  for  ten  years.  Them  was  the  days  for  a  little 
excitement.  There  was  a  chief,  Mohuho,  who  'd  a-killed 
me  if  I  'ad  n't  been  tapud  by  Vaekehu,  the  queen,  wot 
took  a  liking  to  me,  me  being  a  kid,  and  white.  I've 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  33 

seen  Mohuho  shoot  three  natives  from  cocoanut-trees 
just  to  try  a  new  gun.  'E  was  a  bad  'un,  'e  was.  There 
was  something  doing  every  day,  them  days.  God,  wot 
it  is  to  be  young!" 

A  little  later  Lying  Bill,  Ducat,  and  I,  with  my  new 
valet's  canoe  in  the  wake  of  our  boat,  rounded  the  cliffs 
that  had  shut  off  our  view  of  Atuona  Valley.  It  lay 
before  us,  a  long  and  narrow  stretch  of  sand  behind  a 
foaming  and  heavy  surf;  beyond,  a  few  scattered 
wooden  buildings  among  palm  and  banian-trees,  and 
above,  the  ribbed  gaunt  mountains  shutting  in  a  deep 
and  gloomy  ravine.  It  was  a  lonely,  beautiful  place, 
ominous,  melancholy,  yet  majestic. 

"Bloody  Hiva-oa,"  this  island  was  called.  Long  af- 
ter the  French  had  subdued  by  terror  the  other  isles  of 
the  group,  Hiva-oa  remained  obdurate,  separate,  and 
untamed.  It  was  the  last  stronghold  of  brutishness,  of 
cruel  chiefs  and  fierce  feuds,  of  primitive  and  terrible 
customs.  And  of  "the  man-eating  isle  of  Hiva-oa" 
Atuona  Valley  was  the  capital. 

We  landed  on  the  beach  dry-shod,  through  the  skill 
of  the  boat-steerer  and  the  strength  of  the  Tahitian 
sailors,  who  carried  us  through  the  surf  and  set  my 
luggage  among  the  thick  green  vines  that  met  the  tide. 
We  were  dressed  to  call  upon  the  governor,  whose  in- 
auguration was  to  take  place  that  afternoon,  and  leav- 
ing my  belongings  in  care  of  the  faithful  Exploding 
Eggs,  we  set  off  up  the  valley. 

The  rough  road,  seven  or  eight  feet  wide,  was  raised 
on  rocks  above  the  jungle  and  was  bordered  by  giant 
banana  plants  and  cocoanuts.  At  this  season  all  was 
a  swamp  below  us,  the  orchard  palms  standing  many 


34  WHITE  SHADOWS 

feet  deep  in  water  and  mud,  but  their  long  green  fronds 
and  the  darker  tangle  of  wild  growth  on  the  steep  moun- 
tain-sides were  beautiful. 

The  government  house  was  set  half  a  mile  farther 
on  in  the  narrowing  ravine,  and  on  the  way  we  passed 
a  desolate  dwelling,  squalid,  set  in  the  marsh,  its  bat- 
tered verandas  and  open  doors  disclosing  a  wretched 
mingling  of  native  bareness  with  poverty-stricken 
European  fittings.  On  the  tottering  veranda  sat  a 
ragged  Frenchman,  bearded  and  shaggy -haired,  and  be- 
side him  three  girls  as  blonde  as  German  Mddchens. 
Their  white  delicate  faces  and  blue  eyes,  in  such  sur- 
roundings, struck  one  like  a  blow.  The  eldest  was  a 
girl  of  eighteen  years,  melancholy,  though  pretty,  wear- 
ing like  the  others  a  dirty  gown  and  no  shoes  or  stock- 
ings. The  man  was  in  soiled  overalls,  and  reeling 
drunk. 

"That  is  Baufre,"  said  Ducat.  "He  is  always  drunk. 
He  married  the  daughter  of  an  Irish  trader,  a  former 
officer  in  the  British  Indian  Light  Cavalry.  Baufre 
was  a  sous-officier  in  the  French  forces  here.  There 
is  no  native  blood  in  those  girls.  What  will  become  of 
them,  I  wonder?" 

A  few  hundred  yards  further  on  was  the  palace. 
It  was  a  wooden  house  of  four  or  five  rooms,  with  an 
ample  veranda,  surrounded  by  an  acre  of  ground  fenced 
in.  The  sward  was  the  brilliantly  green,  luxuriant  wild 
growth  that  in  these  islands  covers  every  foot  of  earth 
surface.  Cocoanuts  and  mango-trees  rose  from  this 
volunteer  lawn,  and  under  them  a  dozen  rosebushes, 
thick  with  excessively  fragrant  bloom.  Pineapples 
grew  against  the  palings,  and  a  bed  of  lettuce  flourished 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  35 

in  the  rear  beside  a  tiny  pharmacy,  a  kitchen,  and  a 
shelter  for  servants. 

On  the  spontaneous  verdure  before  the  veranda  three 
score  Marquesans  stood  or  squatted,  the  men  in  shirts 
and  overalls  and  the  women  in  tunics.  Their  skins, 
not  brown  nor  red  nor  yellow,  but  tawny  like  that  of 
the  white  man  deeply  tanned  by  the  sun,  reminded  me 
again  that  these  people  may  trace  back  their  ancestry 
to  the  Caucasian  cradle.  The  hair  of  the  women  was 
adorned  with  gay  flowers  or  the  leaves  of  the  false  coffee 
bush.  Their  single  garments  of  gorgeous  colors  clung 
to  their  straight,  rounded  bodies,  their  dark  eyes  were 
soft  and  full  of  light  as  the  eyes  of  deer,  and  their 
features,  clean-cut  and  severe,  were  of  classic  lines. 

The  men,  tall  and  massive,  seemed  awkwardly  con- 
stricted in  ill-fitting,  blue  cotton  overalls  such  as  Ameri- 
can laborers  wear  over  street-clothes.  Their  huge 
bodies  seemed  about  to  break  through  the  flimsy  bind- 
ings, and  the  carriage  of  their  striking  heads  made 
the  garments  ridiculous.  Most  of  them  had  fairly  regu- 
lar features  on  a  large  scale,  their  mouths  wide,  and 
their  lips  full  and  sensual.  They  wore  no  hats  or  orna- 
ments, though  it  has  ever  been  the  custom  of  all  Poly- 
nesians to  put  flowers  and  wreaths  upon  their  heads. 

Men  and  women  were  waiting  with  a  kind  of  apathetic 
resignation;  melancholy  and  unresisting  despair  seemed 
the  only  spirit  left  to  them. 

On  the  veranda  with  the  governor  and  Bauda  were 
several  whites,  one  a  French  woman  to  whom  we  were 
presented.  Madame  Bapp,  fat  and  red-faced,  in  a 
tight  silk  gown  over  corsets,  was  twice  the  size  of  her 
husband,  a  dapper,  small  man  with  huge  mustaches,  a 


36  WHITE  SHADOWS 

paper  collar  to  his  ears,  and  a  fiery,  red-velvet  cravat. 

On  a  table  were  bottles  of  absinthe  and  champagne, 
and  several  demijohns  of  red  wine  stood  on  the  floor. 
All  our  company  attacked  the  table  freight  and  drank 
the  warm  champagne. 

A  seamy-visaged  Frenchman,  Pierre  Guillitoue,  the 
village  butcher — a  philosopher  and  anarchist,  he  told 
me — rapped  with  a  bottle  on  the  veranda  railing.  The 
governor,  in  every  inch  of  gold  lace  possible,  made  a 
gallant  figure  as  he  rose  and  faced  the  people.  His 
whiskers  were  aglow  with  dressing.  The  ceremony  be- 
gan with  an  address  by  a  native,  Haabunai. 

Intrepreted  by  Guillitoue,  Haabunai  said  that  the 
Marquesans  were  glad  to  have  a  new  governor,  a  wise 
man  who  would  cure  their  ills,  a  just  ruler,  and  a  friend; 
then  speaking  directly  to  his  own  people,  he  praised 
extravagantly  the  new-comer,  so  that  Guillitoue  choked 
in  his  translation,  and  ceased,  and  mixed  himself  a 
glass  of  absinthe  and  water. 

The  governor  replied  briefly  in  French.  He  said 
that  he  had  come  in  their  interest;  that  he  would  not 
cheat  them  or  betray  them;  that  he  would  make  them 
well  if  they  were  sick.  The  French  flag  was  their 
flag;  the  French  people  loved  them.  The  Marquesans 
listened  without  interest,  as  if  he  spoke  of  some  one 
in  Tibet  who  wanted  to  sell  a  green  elephant. 

In  the  South  Seas  a  meeting  out-of-doors  means  a 
dance.  The  Polynesians  have  ever  made  this  universal 
human  expression  of  the  rhythmic  principle  of  motion 
the  chief  evidence  of  emotion,  and  particularly  of  ela- 
tion. Civilization  has  all  but  stifled  it  in  many  islands. 
Christianity  has  made  it  a  sin.  It  dies  hard,  for  it  is 


Andre  Bauda,  Commissaire 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  37 

the  basic  outlet  of  strong  natural  feeling,  and  the  great 
group  entertainment  of  these  peoples. 

The  speeches  done,  the  governor  suggested  that  the 
national  spirit  be  interpreted  to  him  in  pantomine. 

"They  must  be  enlivened  with  alcohol  or  they  will 
not  move,"  said  Guillitoue. 

"Mon  dieu!"  he  replied.  It  is  the  'Folies  Bergere' 
over  again!  Give  them  wine!" 

Bauda  ordered  Flag,  the  native  gendarme,  and  Song 
of  the  Nightingale,  a  prisoner,  to  carry  a  demijohn 
of  Bordeaux  wine  to  the  garden.  With  two  glasses 
they  circulated  the  claret  until  each  Marquesan  had 
a  pint  or  so.  Song  of  the  Nightingale  was  a  middle- 
aged  savage,  with  a  wicked,  leering  face,  and  whiskers 
from  his  ears  to  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  surely  a  strange 
product  of  the  Marquesan  race,  none  of  whose  men  will 
permit  any  hair  to  grow  on  lip  or  cheek.  While  Song 
circulated  the  wine  M.  Bauda  enlightened  me  as  to  the 
crime  that  had  made  him  prisoner.  He  was  serving 
eighteen  months  for  selling  cocoanut  brandy. 

When  the  cask  was  emptied  the  people  began  the 
dance.  Three  rows  were  formed,  one  of  women  be- 
tween two  of  men,  in  Indian  file  facing  the  veranda. 
Haabunai  and  Song  of  the  Nightingale  brought  forth 
the  drums.  These  were  about  four  feet  high,  barbaric 
instruments  of  skin  stretched  over  hollow  logs,  and  the 
"Boom-Boom"  that  came  from  them  when  they  were 
struck  by  the  hands  of  the  two  strong  men  was  thrilling 
and  strange. 

The  dance  was  formal,  slow,  and  melancholy. 
Haabunai  gave  the  order  of  it,  shouting  at  the  top  of 
his  voice.  The  women,  with  blue  and  scarlet  Chinese 


38  WHITE  SHADOWS 

shawls  of  silk  tied  about  their  hips,  moved  stiffly,  with- 
out interest  or  spontaneous  spirit,  as  though  constrained 
and  indifferent.  Though  the  dances  were  licentious, 
they  conveyed  no  meaning  and  expressed  no  emotion. 
The  men  gestured  by  rote,  appealing  mutely  to  the 
spectators,  so  that  one  might  fancy  them  orators  whose 
voices  failed  to  reach  one.  There  was  no  laughter,  not 
even  a  smile. 

"Give  them  another  demijohn!"  said  the  governor. 

The  juice  of  the  grape  dissolved  melancholy.  When 
the  last  of  it  had  flowed  the  dance  was  resumed.  The 
women  began  a  spirited  danse  du  venire.  Their  eyes 
now  sparkled,  their  bodies  were  lithe  and  graceful. 
McHenry  rushed  on  to  the  lawn  and  taking  his  place 
among  them  copied  their  motions  in  antics  that  set 
them  roaring  with  the  hearty  roars  of  the  conquered 
at  the  asininity  of  the  conquerors.  They  tried  to  con- 
tinue the  dance,  but  could  not  for  merriment. 

One  of  the  dancers  advanced  toward  the  veranda  and 
in  a  ceremonious  way  kissed  the  governor  upon  the  lips. 
That  young  executive  was  much  surprised,  but  returned 
the  salute  and  squeezed  her  tiny  waist.  All  the  com- 
pany laughed  at  this,  except  Madame  Bapp,  who 
glared  angrily  and  exclaimed,  "CoquineT  which  means 
hussy. 

The  Marquesans  have  no  kisses  in  their  native  love- 
making,  but  smell  one  or  rub  noses,  as  do  the  Eskimo. 
Whites,  however,  have  taught  kisses  in  all  their  variety. 

The  governor  had  the  girl  drink  a  glass  of  champagne. 
She  was  perhaps  sixteen  years  old,  a  charming  girl, 
smiling,  simple,  and  lovely.  Her  skin,  like  that  of  all 
Marquesans,  was  olive,  not  brown  like  the  Hawaiians' 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  39 

or  yellow  like  the  Chinese,  but  like  that  of  whites  grown 
dark  in  the  sun.  She  had  black,  streaming  hair,  sloe 
eyes,  and  an  arch  expression.  Her  manner  was  art- 
lessly ingratiating,  and  her  sweetness  of  disposition  was 
not  marked  by  hauteur.  When  I  noticed  that  her  arm 
was  tattoed,  she  slipped  off  her  dress  and  sat  naked  to 
the  waist  to  show  all  her  adornment. 

There  was  an  inscription  of  three  lines  stretching 
from  her  shoulder  to  her  wrist,  the  letters  nearly  an 
inch  in  length,  crowded  together  in  careless  inartistry. 
The  legend  was  as  follows: 

"TAHIAKEANA  TEIKIMOEATIPANIE  PAHAKA  AVII 
ANIPOENUIMATILAILI 
TETUATONOEINUHAPALIILII" 

These  were  the  names  given  her  at  birth,  and  tattooed 
in  her  childhood.  She  was  called,  she  said,  Tahiakeana, 
Weaver  of  Mats. 

Seeing  her  success  among  us  and  noting  the  cham- 
pagne, her  companions  began  to  thrust  forward  on  to 
the  veranda  to  share  her  luck.  This  angered  the  gov- 
ernor, who  thought  his  dignity  assailed.  At  Bauda's 
order,  the  gendarme  and  Song  of  the  Nightingale  dis- 
missed the  visitors,  put  McHenry  to  sleep  under  a  tree, 
and  escorted  the  new  executive  and  me  to  Bauda's  home 
on  the  beach. 

There  in  his  board  shanty,  six  by  ten  feet,  we  ate  our 
first  dinner  in  the  islands,  while  the  wind  surged  through 
swishing  palm-leaves  outside,  and  nuts  fell  now  and 
then  upon  the  iron  roof  with  the  resounding  crash  of 
bombs.  It  was  a  plain,  but  plentiful,  meal  of  canned 
foods,  served  by  the  tawny  gendarme  and  the  wicked 


40  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Song,  whose  term  of  punishment  for  distributing  brandy 
seemed  curiously  suited  to  his  crime. 

At  midnight  I  accompanied  a  happy  governor  to  his 
palace,  which  had  one  spare  bedroom,  sketchily  fur- 
nished. During  the  night  the  slats  of  my  bed  gave 
way  with  a  dreadful  din,  and  I  woke  to  find  the  gov- 
ernor in  pajamas  of  rose-color d  silk,  with  pistol  in 
hand,  shedding  electric  rays  upon  me  from  a  battery 
lamp.  There  was  anxiety  in  his  manner  as  he  said : 

"You  never  can  tell.  A  chief's  son  tried  to  kill  my 
predecessor.  I  do  not  know  these  Marquesans.  We 
are  few  whites  here.  And,  mon  dieu!  the  guardian  of 
the  palace  is  himself  a  native!" 


Antoinette,  a  Marquesan  dancing  girl 


Marquesans  in  Sunday  clothes 


The  daughter  of  Titihuti,  chieftess  of  Hiva-Oa.     On  the  left  her  husband,  Pi 
Pradorat,  on  the  right,  his  brother 


CHAPTER  V 

First  night  in  Atuona  valley;  sensational  arrival  of  the  Golden  Bed;  Titi- 
huti's  tattooed  legs. 

IT  was  necessary  to  find  at  once  a  residence  for  my 
contemplated  stay  in  Atuona,  for  the  schooner 
sailed  on  the  morrow,  and  my  brief  glimpse  of 
the  Marquesans  had  whetted  my  desire  to  live  among 
them.     I  would  not  accept  the  courteous  invitation  of 
the  governor  to  stay  at  the  palace,  for  officialdom  never 
knows  its  surroundings,  and  grandeur  makes  for  no 
confidence  from  the  lowly. 

Lam  Kai  Oo,  an  aged  Chinaman  whom  I  encountered 
at  the  trader's  store,  came  eagerly  to  my  rescue  with 
an  offered  lease  of  his  deserted  store  and  bakeshop. 
From  Canton  he  had  been  brought  in  his  youth  by  the 
labor  bosses  of  western  America  to  help  build  the  trans- 
continental railway,  and  later  another  agency  had  set 
him  down  in  Taha-Uka  to  grow  cotton  for  John  Hart. 
He  saw  the  destruction  of  that  plantation,  escaped  the 
plague  of  opium,  and  with  his  scant  savings  made  him- 
self a  petty  merchant  in  Atuona.  Now  he  was  old 
and  had  retired  up  the  valley  to  the  home  he  had  long 
established  there  beside  his  copra  furnace  and  his  shrine 
of  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus. 

He  led  me  to  the  abandoned  shack,  a  long  room, 
tumbledown,  moist,  festooned  with  cobwebs,  the  coun- 
ters and  benches  black  with  reminiscences  of  twenty 

41 


42  WHITE  SHADOWS 

thousand  tradings  and  Chinese  meals.  The  windows 
were  but  half  a  dozen  bars,  and  the  heavy  vapors  of  a 
cruel  past  hung  about  the  sombre  walls.  Though  opium 
had  long  been  contraband,  its  acrid  odor  permeated  the 
worn  furnishings.  Here  with  some  misgivings  I  pre- 
pared to  spend  my  second  night  in  Hiva-oa. 

I  left  the  palace  late,  and  found  the  shack  by  its  loca- 
tion next  the  river  on  the  main  road.  Midnight  had 
come,  no  creature  stirred  as  I  opened  the  door.  The 
few  stars  in  the  black  velvet  pall  of  the  sky  seemed  to 
ray  out  positive  darkness,  and  the  spirit  of  Po,  the 
Marquesan  god  of  evil,  breathed  from  the  unseen,  shud- 
dering forest.  I  tried  to  damn  my  mood,  but  found 
no  profanity  utterable.  Rain  began  to  fall,  and  I 
pushed  into  the  den. 

A  glimpse  of  the  dismal  interior  did  not  cheer  me. 
I  locked  the  door  with  the  great  iron  key,  spread  my 
mat,  and  blew  out  the  lantern.  Soon  from  out  the 
huge  brick  oven  where  for  decades  Lam  Kai  Oo  had 
baked  his  bread  there  stole  scratching,  whispering  forms 
that  slid  along  the  slippery  floor  and  leaped  about  the 
seats  where  many  long  since  dead  had  sat.  I  lay  quiet 
with  a  will  to  sleep,  but  the  hair  stirred  on  my  scalp. 

The  darkness  was  incredible,  burdensome,  like  a 
weight.  The  sound  of  the  wind  and  the  rain  in  the 
breadfruit  forest  and  the  low  roar  of  the  torrent  became 
only  part  of  the  silence  in  which  those  invisible  presences 
crept  and  rustled.  Try  as  I  would  I  could  recall  no 
good  deed  of  mine  to  shine  for  me  in  that  shrouded 
confine.  The  Celtic  vision  of  my  forefathers,  that 
strange  mixture  of  the  terrors  of  Druid  and  soggarth, 
danced  on  the  creaking  floor,  and  witch-lights  gleamed 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  43 

on  ceiling  and  timbers.  I  thought  to  dissolve  it  all 
with  a  match,  but  whether  all  awake  or  partly  asleep, 
I  had  no  strength  to  reach  it. 

Then  something  clammily  touched  my  face,  and  with 
a  bound  I  had  the  lantern  going.  No  living  thing 
moved  in  the  circle  of  its  rays.  My  flesh  crawled  on 
my  bones,  and  sitting  upright  on  my  mat  I  chanted 
aloud  from  the  Bible  in  French  with  Tahitian  parallels. 
The  glow  of  a  pipe  and  the  solace  of  tobacco  aided  the 
rhythm  of  the  prophets  in  dispelling  the  ghosts  of  the 
gloom,  but  never  shipwrecked  mariner  greeted  the  dawn 
with  greater  joy  than  I. 

In  its  pale  light  I  peered  through  the  barred  windows 
— the  windows  of  the  Chinese  the  world  over — and  saw 
four  men  who  had  set  down  a  coffin  to  rest  themselves 
and  smoke  a  cigarette.  They  sat  on  the  rude  box  cov- 
ered with  a  black  cloth  and  passed  the  pandanus- 
wrapped  tobacco  about.  Naked,  except  for  loin-cloths, 
their  tawny  skins  gleaming  wet  in  the  gray  light,  rings  of 
tattooing  about  their  eyes,  they  made  a  strange  picture 
against  the  jungle  growth. 

They  were  without  fire  for  they  had  got  into  a  deep 
place  crossing  the  stream  and  had  wet  their  matches.  I 
handed  a  box  through  the  bars,  and  by  reckless  use  of 
the  few  words  of  Marquesan  I  recalled,  and  bits  of 
French  they  knew,  helped  out  by  scraps  of  Spanish  one 
had  gained  from  the  Chilean  murderer  who  milked  the 
cows  for  the  German  trader,  I  learned  that  the  corpse 
was  that  of  a  woman  of  sixty  years,  whose  agonies  had 
been  soothed  by  the  ritual  of  the  Catholic  church.  The 
bearers  were  taking  her  to  Calvary  cemetery  on  the  hill. 

Their  cigarettes  smoked,  they  rose  and  took  up  the 


44  WHITE  SHADOWS 

long  poles  on  which  the  coffin  was  swung.  Moving  with 
the  tread  of  panthers,  firm,  noiseless,  and  graceful,  they 
disappeared  into  the  forest  and  I  was  left  alone  with  the 
morning  sun  and  the  glistening  leaves  of  the  rain-wet 
breadfruit-trees. 

On  the  beach  an  hour  later  I  met  Gedge,  who  asked 
me  with  a  quizzical  eye  how  I  had  enjoyed  my  first 
night  among  the  Kanakas.  I  replied  that  I  had  seldom 
passed  such  a  night,  spoke  glowingly  of  the  forest  and 
the  stream,  and  said  that  I  was  still  determined  to  re- 
main behind  when  the  schooner  sailed. 

"Well,  if  you  will  stay,"  said  he,  and  the  trader's  look 
came  into  his  eye,  "I  've  got  just  the  thing  you  want. 
You  don't  want  to  lie  on  a  mat  where  the  thousand-legs 
can  get  you — and  if  they  get  you,  you  die.  You  want 
to  live  right.  Now  listen  to  me ;  I  got  the  best  brass 
bed  ever  a  king  slept  on.  Double  thickness,  heavy  brass 
bed,  looks  like  solid  gold.  Springs  that  would  hold  the 
schooner,  double-thick  mattress,  sheets  and  pillows  all 
embroidered  like  it  belonged  to  a  duchess.  Fellow  was 
going  to  be  married  that  I  brought  it  for,  but  now  he  's 
lying  up  there  in  Calvary  in  a  bed  they  dug  for  him. 
I  '11  let  you  have  it  cheap — three  hundred  francs.  It 's 
worth  double.  What  do  you  say?" 

A  brass  bed,  a  golden  bed  in  the  cannibal  islands ! 

"It 's  a  go,"  I  said. 

On  the  deck  of  the  Morning  Star  I  beheld  the  pack- 
ing-cases brought  up  from  the  hold,  and  my  new  pur- 
chase with  all  its  parts  and  appurtenances  loaded  in  a 
ship's  boat,  with  the  iron  box  that  held  my  gold.  So  I 
arrived  in  Atuona  for  the  second  time,  high  astride  the 
sewed-up  mattress  on  top  of  the  metal  parts,  and  so 


Vai  Etienne 


The  pool  by  the  Queen's  house 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  45 

deftly  did  the  Tahitians  handle  the  oars  that,  though  we 
rode  the  surf  right  up  to  the  creeping  jungle  flowers 
that  met  the  tide  on  Atuona  beach,  I  was  not  wet  except 
by  spray. 

Our  arrival  was  watched  by  a  score  of  Marquesan 
chiefs  who  had  been  summoned  by  Bauda  for  the  pur- 
pose, as  he  told  me,  of  being  urged  to  thrash  the  tax-tree 
more  vigorously.  The  meeting  adjourned  instantly, 
and  they  hastened  down  from  the  frame  building  that 
housed  the  government  offices.  Their  curiosity  could 
not  be  restrained.  A  score  of  eager  hands  stripped  the 
coverings  from  the  brass  bed,  and  exposed  the  glittering 
head  and  foot  pieces  in  the  brilliant  sunlight.  Excla- 
mations of  amazement  and  delight  greeted  the  marvel. 
This  was  another  wonder  from  the  white  men's  isles,  in- 
dicative of  wealth  and  royal  taste. 

From  all  sides  other  natives  came  hastening.  My 
brass  bed  and  I  were  the  center  of  a  gesticulating  circle, 
dark  eyes  rolled  with  excitement  and  naked  shoulder 
jostled  shoulder.  Three  chiefs,  tattooed  and  haughty, 
personally  erected  the  bed,  and  when  I  disclosed  the 
purpose  of  the  mattress,  placed  it  in  position.  Every 
woman  present  now  pushed  forward  and  begged  the 
favor  of  being  allowed  to  bounce  upon  it.  It  became  a 
diversion  attended  with  high  honor.  Controversies 
meantime  raged  about  the  bed.  Many  voices  estimated 
the  number  of  mats  that  would  be  necessary  to  equal  the 
thickness  of  the  mattress,  but  none  found  a  comparison 
worthy  of  its  softness  and  elasticity. 

In  the  midst  of  this  melee  one  woman,  whose  eyes  and 
facial  contour  betrayed  Chinese  blood,  but  who  was  very 
comely  and  neat,  pushed  forward  and  pointing  to  the 


46  WHITE  SHADOWS 

glittering  center  of  attraction  repeated  over  and  over. 

"  Kisskisskissa?    Kisskisskissa?" 

For  awhile  I  was  disposed  to  credit  her  with  a  sud- 
den affection  for  me,  but  soon  resolved  her  query  into 
the  French  "Qu'est-ce  que  c'est  que  ca?  What  is  that?" 

She  was  Apporo,  wife  of  Puhei,  Great  Fern,  she  said, 
and  she  owned  a  house  in  which  her  father,  a  Chinaman, 
had  recently  died.  This  house  she  earnestly  desired  to 
give  me  in  exchange  for  the  golden  bed,  and  we  struck  a 
bargain.  I  was  to  live  in  the  house  of  Apporo  and,  on 
departing,  to  leave  her  the  bed.  Great  Fern,  her  hus- 
band, was  called  to  seal  the  compact.  He  was  a  giant 
in  stature,  dark  skinned,  with  a  serene  countenance  and 
crisp  hair.  They  agreed  to  clean  the  house  thoroughly 
and  to  give  me  possession  at  once. 

They  were  really  mad  to  have  the  bed,  in  all  its  shiny 
golden  beauty,  and  once  the  arrangement  was  made 
they  could  hardly  give  over  examining  it,  crawling  be- 
neath it,  smoothing  the  mattress  and  fingering  the 
springs.  They  shook  it,  poked  it,  patted  it,  and  finally 
Apporo,  filled  with  feminine  pride,  arrogated  to  herself 
the  sole  privilege  of  bouncing  upon  it. 

Lam  Kai  Oo  wailed  his  loss  of  a  tenant. 

"You  savee  thlat  house  belong  lep',"  he  argued  ear- 
nestly. "My  sto'e  littee  dirty,  but  I  fixum.  You  go 
thlat  lep'  house,  bimeby  flinger  dlop,  toe  dlop,  nose  he 
go."  He  grimaced  frightfully,  and  indicated  in  panto- 
mime the  ravages  of  leprosy  upon  the  human  form. 

His  appeal  was  in  vain.  The  Golden  Bed,  upraised 
on  the  shoulders  of  four  stalwart  chiefs,  began  its  trium- 
phal progress  up  the  valley  road.  Behind  it  officiously 
walked  Exploding  Eggs,  puffed  up  with  importance,  re- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  47 

garded  on  all  sides  with  respect  as  Tueni  Oki  Kiki, 
Keeper  of  the  Golden  Bed,  but  jostled  for  position  by 
Apporo,  envied  of  women.  Behind  them  up  the  rough 
road  hastened  the  rest  of  the  village,  eager  to  see  the  in- 
stallation of  the  marvel  in  its  new  quarters,  and  I  fol- 
lowed the  barbaric  procession  leisurely. 

My  new  residence  was  a  mile  from  the  beach,  and  off 
the  main  thoroughfare,  though  this  mattered  little. 
The  roads  built  decades  ago  by  the  French  are  so  ruined 
and  neglected  that  not  a  thousand  feet  of  them  remain  in 
all  the  islands.  No  wheel  supports  a  vehicle,  not  even  a 
wheelbarrow.  Trails  thread  the  valleys  and  climb  the 
hills,  and  traffic  is  by  horse  and  human. 

My  Golden  Bed,  lurching  precariously  in  the  narrow 
path,  led  me  through  tangled  jungle  growth  to  the  first 
sight  of  my  new  home,  a  small  house  painted  bright  blue 
and  roofed  with  corrugated  iron.  Set  in  the  midst  of 
the  forest,  it  was  raised  from  the  ground  on  a  paepae, 
a  great  platform  made  of  basalt  stones,  black,  smooth 
and  big,  the  very  flesh  of  the  Marquesas  Islands.  Every 
house  built  by  a  native  since  their  time  began  has  been 
set  on  a  paepae,  and  mine  had  been  erected  in  days  be- 
yond the  memory  of  any  living  man.  It  was  fifty  feet 
broad  and  as  long,  raised  eight  feet  from  the  earth, 
which  was  reached  by  worn  steps. 

Above  the  small  blue-walled  house  the  rocky  peak  of 
Temetiu  rose  steeply,  four  thousand  feet  into  the  air, 
its  lower  reaches  clothed  in  jungle-vines,  and  trees,  its 
summit  dark  green  under  a  clear  sky,  but  black  when  the 
sun  was  hidden.  Most  of  the  hours  of  the  day  it  was 
but  a  dim  shadow  above  a  belt  of  white  clouds,  but  up  to 
its  mysterious  heights  a  broken  ridge  climbed  sheer  from 


48  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  valley,  and  upon  it  browsed  the  wild  boar  and  the 
crag-loving  goat. 

Beside  the  house  the  river  brawled  through  a  green- 
wood of  bread-fruit-,  cocoanut-,  vi-apple-,  mango-  and 
lime-trees.  The  tropical  heat  distilled  from  their  leaves 
a  drowsy  woodland  odor  which  filled  the  two  small  white- 
washed rooms,  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  falling 
through  the  wide  unglassed  windows,  made  a  sun-flecked 
pattern  on  the  black  stone  floor.  This  was  the  House 
of  Lepers,  now  rechristened  the  House  of  the  Golden 
Bed,  which  was  to  be  my  home  through  the  unknown 
days  before  me. 

The  next  day  I  watched  the  Morning  Star  lift  her 
sails  and  move  slowly  out  of  the  Bay  of  Traitors  into  the 
open  sea,  with  less  regret  than  I  have  ever  felt  in  that 
moment  of  wistfulness  which  attends  the  departure  of  a 
sailing-ship.  Exploding  Eggs,  at  my  side,  read  cor- 
rectly my  returning  eyes.  "Kaoha!"  he  said,  with  a 
wide  smile  of  welcome,  and  with  him  and  Vai,  my  next- 
door  neighbor,  I  returned  gladly  to  my  paepae. 

Vai,  or  in  English,  Water,  was  a  youth  of  twenty 
years,  a  dandy;  on  ordinary  occasions  naked,  except  for 
the  pareu  about  his  loins,  but  on  Sundays  or  when  court- 
ing rejoicing  in  the  gayest  of  Europeanized  clothes. 
He  lived  near  me  in  a  small  house  on  the  river-bank  with 
his  mother  and  sister.  All  were  of  a  long  line  of  chiefs, 
and  all  marvelously  large  and  handsome. 

The  mother,  Titihuti,  would  have  been  beloved  of  the 
ancient  artists  who  might  have  drawn  her  for  an  Ama- 
zon. I  have  never  seen  another  woman  of  such  superb 
carriage.  Her  hair  was  blood-red,  her  brow  lofty,  and 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  49 

an  indescribable  air  of  majesty  and  pride  spoke  elo- 
quently of  her  descent  from  fathers  and  mothers  of 
power.  She  had  wonderful  legs,  statuesque  in  mold, 
and  tattooed  from  ankles  to  thigh  in  most  amazing  pat- 
terns. To  a  Marquesan  of  her  generation  the  tattooed 
legs  of  a  shapely  woman  were  the  highest  reach  of  art. 

Titihuti  was  very  proud  of  her  legs.  Though  she  was 
devout  Catholic  and  well  aware  of  the  contempt  of  the 
church  for  such  vanities,  religion  could  not  entirely  ef- 
face her  pride.  During  the  first  few  days  she  passed 
and  repassed  my  cabin  in  her  walks  about  her  household 
duties,  lifting  her  tunic  each  day  a  little  higher.  Her 
vanity  would  no  doubt  have  continued  this  gradual 
course,  but  that  one  day  I  came  upon  her  in  the  river  en- 
tirely nude.  Her  gratification  was  unconcealed ;  naively 
she  displayed  the  innumerable  whirls  and  arabesques  of 
her  adornment  for  my  compliments,  and  thereafter  she 
wore  only  a  pareu  when  at  home,  entirely  dropping  alien 
standards  of  modesty  and  her  gown. 

She  said  that  people  came  from  far  valleys  to  see  her 
legs,  and  I  could  readily  believe  it.  It  was  so  with  the 
leg  of  the  late  Queen  Vaekehu,  a  leg  so  perfect  in  mold 
and  so  elaborately  and  artistically  inked  that  it  distin- 
guished her  even  more  than  her  rank.  Casual  whites, 
especially,  considered  it  a  curiosity,  and  offended  her 
majesty  by  laying  democratic  hands  upon  the  master- 
piece. I  had  known  a  man  or  two  who  had  seen  the 
queen  at  home,  and  who  testified  warmly  to  the  har- 
monious blending  of  flesh  color  with  the  candle-nut  soot. 
Among  my  effects  in  the  House  of  the  Golden  Bed  I 
had  a  photograph  showing  the  multiplicity  and  fine  exe- 


50  WHITE  SHADOWS 

cution  of  the  designs  upon  Vaekehu's  leg,  yet  comparing 
it  with  the  two  realities  of  Titihuti  I  could  not  yield  the 
palm  to  the  queen. 

The  legs  of  Titihuti  were  tattooed  from  toes  to  ankles 
with  a  net-like  pattern,  and  from  the  ankles  to  the  waist- 
line, where  the  design  terminated  in  a  handsome  girdle, 
there  were  curves,  circles  and  filigree,  all  in  accord,  all 
part  of  a  harmonious  whole,  and  most  pleasing  to  the 
eye.  The  pattern  upon  her  feet  was  much  like  that  of 
sandals  or  high  mocassins,  indicating  a  former  use  of  leg- 
coverings  in  a  cold  climate.  Titihuti  herself,  after  an 
anxious  inch-for-inch  matching  of  picture  and  living 
form,  said  complacently  that  her  legs  were  meitai  ae, 
which  meant  that  she  would  not  have  hesitated  to  enter 
her  own  decorations  in  beauty  competition  with  those  of 
Vaekehu. 

Kake,  her  daughter,  had  been  christened  for  her 
mother's  greatest  charm,  for  her  name  means  Tattooed 
to  the  Loins,  though  there  was  not  a  tattoo  mark  upon 
her.  She  was  a  beautiful,  stately  girl  of  nineteen  or 
twenty,  married  to  a  devoted  native,  to  whom,  shortly 
after  my  arrival,  she  presented  his  own  living  miniature. 
I  was  the  startled  witness  of  the  birth  of  this  babe,  the 
delight  of  his  father's  heart. 

My  neighbors  and  I  had  the  same  bathing  hour,  soon 
after  daylight,  and  usually  chose  the  same  pool  in  the 
clear  river.  Kake  was  lying  on  a  mat  on  their  paepae 
when  I  passed  one  morning,  and  when  I  said  "Kaoha" 
to  her  she  did  not  reply.  Her  silence  caused  me  to 
mount  the  stairway,  and  at  that  moment  the  child  was 
born. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  joined  me  in  the  river,  and 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  51 

laughing  back  at  me  over  her  shoulder  as  she  plunged 
through  the  water,  called  that  she  would  give  the  child 
my  name.  That  afternoon  she  was  sitting  on  my 
paepae,  a  bewitching  sight  as  she  held  the  suckling  to 
her  breast  and  crooned  of  his  forefather's  deeds  before 
the  white  had  gripped  them. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Visit  of  Chief  Seventh  Man  Who  is  So  Angry  He  Wallows  in  the  Mire; 
journey  to  Vait-hua  on  Tahuata  island;  fight  with  the  devil-fish;  story 
of  a  cannibal  feast  and  the  two  who  escaped. 

THE  Iron  Fingers  That  Make  Words,"  the  Mar- 
quesans  called  my  typewriter.  Such  a  wonder 
had  never  before  been  beheld  in  the  islands,  and 
its  fame  spread  far.  From  other  valleys  and  even  from 
distant  islands  the  curious  came  in  threes  and  fours. 
They  watched  the  strange  thing  write  their  names  and 
carefully  carried  away  the  bits  of  paper. 

"Aue!"  they  cried  as  I  showed  them  my  speed,  which 
would  be  a  shame  to  a  typist. 

Chiefs  especially  were  my  visitors,  thinking  it  proper 
to  their  estate  and  to  mine  that  they  should  call  upon  me 
and  invite  me  to  their  seats  of  government. 

So  it  happened  that  one  morning  as  I  sat  on  my 
paepae  eating  a  breakfast  of  roasted  breadfruit  pre- 
pared for  me  by  Exploding  Eggs,  my  naked  skin  en- 
joying the  warmth  of  the  sun  and  my  ears  filled  with  the 
bubbling  laughter  of  the  brook,  I  beheld  two  stately 
visitors  approaching.  Exploding  Eggs  named  them  to 
me  as  they  came  up  the  trail. 

Both  were  leading  chiefs  of  the  islands.  Katu,  Piece 
of  Tattooing,  of  Hekeani,  led  the  way.  His  severe  and 
dignified  face  was  a  dark  blue  in  color.  His  eyes  alone 
were  free  from  imbedded  indigo  ink.  They  gleamed 

52 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  53 

like  white  clouds  in  a  blue  sky,  but  their  glance  was  mild 
and  kindly.  Sixty  years  of  age,  he  still  walked  with 
upright  grace,  only  the  softened  contours  of  his  face  be- 
traying that  he  was  well  in  his  manhood  when  his  valley 
was  still  given  over  to  tribal  warfares,  orgies,  and  canni- 
balism. 

Behind  him  came  Neo  Afitu  Atrien,  of  Vait-hua,  a 
stocky  brown  man  with  a  lined  face,  stubby  mustache, 
and  brilliant,  intelligent  eyes.  He  mounted  the  steps, 
shook  hands  heartily,  and  poured  out  his  informed  soul 
in  English. 

"Johnny,  I  spik  Ingrish.  You  Iris'man.  You  got 
'O,'  before  name.  I  know  you  got  tipwrite  can  make 
machine  do  pen.  I  know  Panama  Canal.  How  is 
Teddy  and  Gotali?" 

I  assured  the  chief  that  both  Roosevelt  and  Goethals 
were  well  at  last  account,  and  he  veered  to  other  topics. 

"Before  time,  come  prenty  whaleship  my  place,"  he 
said.  "I  know  geograffy,  mappee,  grammal.  I  know 
Egyptee,  Indee,  all  country;  I  know  Bufflobillee.  Be- 
fore time,  whaleship  come  America  for  take  water  and 
wood.  Stay  two,  t'ree  week.  Every  night  sailor  come 
ashore  catchee  girls  take  ship.  Prenty  rum,  biskit, 
molassi,  good  American  tobbacee.  Now  all  finish. 
Whaleship  no  more.  That  is  not  good." 

His  name  means  The  Seventh  Man  Who  Is  So  Angry 
He  Wallows  In  The  Mire.  "Neo"  means  all  but  the 
number,  and  for  so  short  a  word  to  be  translated  by  so 
detailed  a  statement  would  indicate  that  there  were  many 
Marquesans  whose  anger  tripped  them.  Else  such  a 
word  had  hardly  been  born. 

I  showed  the  chiefs  the  marvels  of  my  typewriter,  dis- 


54  WHITE  SHADOWS 

played  to  their  respectful  gaze  the  Golden  Bed,  and 
otherwise  did  the  honors.  As  they  departed,  Neo  said 
earnestly, 

"You  come  see  me  you  have  my  house.  You  like,  you 
bring  prenty  rum,  keep  warm  if  rain." 

"A  wicked  man,"  said  Exploding  Eggs  in  Marquesan 
when  the  trail  lay  empty  before  us.  "One  time  he  drink 
much  rum,  French  gendarme  go  to  arrest  him,  he 
bite — "  With  an  eloquent  gesture  my  valet  indicated 
that  Neo's  teeth  had  removed  in  its  entirety  the  nose  of 
the  valiant  defender  of  morals.  "No  good  go  see  him," 
he  added  with  finality. 

However,  the  prospect  intrigued  my  fancy,  and  find- 
ing a  few  days  later  that  Ika  Vaikoki,  whose  discerning 
parents  had  named  him  Ugh!  Dried-up  Stream!  was 
voyaging  toward  Vait-hua  in  a  whaleboat,  I  offered  him 
ten  francs  and  two  litres  of  rum  to  take  me.  Remember- 
ing Neo's  suggestion,  I  took  also  two  other  bottles  of  rum. 

While  our  whaleboat  shot  across  the  Bordelaise  Chan- 
nel pursued  by  a  brisk  breeze,  Ugh !  a  wisp  of  a  man  of 
fifty,  held  the  helm.  He  was  for  all  the  world  like  a 
Malay  pirate;  I  have  seen  his  double  steering  a  proa 
off  the  Borneo  coast,  slim,  high-cheeked,  with  a  sashful 
of  saw-like  knives.  Ugh!  had  no  weapon,  but  his  eye 
was  a  small  flaming  coal  that  made  me  thankful  canni- 
balism is  a  thing  of  the  past.  He  had  been  carried 
through  the  surf  to  his  perch  upon  the  stern  because  one 
of  his  legs  was  useless  for  walking,  but  once  he  grasped 
the  tiller,  he  was  a  seaman  of  skill. 

The  oarsmen  wore  turbans  of  pink,  blue,  and  white 
muslin  to  protect  their  heads  from  the  straight  rays  of 
the  white  sun.  Bright-colored  pareus  were  about  their 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  55 

loins,  and  several  wore  elastic  sleeve-holders  as  orna- 
ments on  tawny  arms  and  legs,  while  one,  the  son  of 
Ugh!  sported  earrings,  great  hoops  of  gold  that  flashed 
in  the  sunshine.  With  their  dark  skins,  gleaming  eyes, 
and  white  teeth,  they  were  a  brilliant  picture  against  the 
dazzling  blue  of  the  sea. 

Straight  across  the  channel  we  steered  for  Hana 
Hevane,  a  little  bay  and  valley  guarded  by  sunken  coral 
rocks  over  which  the  water  foamed  in  white  warning. 
Two  of  the  men  leaped  out  into  the  waves  and  hunted 
on  these  rocks  for  squids,  while  we  beached  the  boat  on  a 
shore  uninhabited  by  any  living  creature  but  rats, 
lizards,  and  centipedes. 

Several  small  octopi  were  soon  brought  in,  and  one  of 
the  men  placed  them  on  some  boulders  where  the  tide  had 
left  pools  of  water,  and  cleaned  them  of  their  poison. 
He  rubbed  them  on  the  stone  exactly  as  a  washerwoman 
handles  a  flannel  garment,  and  out  of  them  came  a  lather 
as  though  he  had  soaped  them.  Suds,  bubbles,  and  froth 
— one  would  have  said  a  laundress  had  been  at  work 
there.  He  dipped  them  often  in  a  pool  of  salt  water, 
and  not  until  they  would  yield  no  more  suds  did  he  give 
each  a  final  rinsing  and  throw  it  on  the  fire  made  on  the 
beach. 

Suddenly  a  shout  broke  my  absorption  in  this  task. 
The  son  of  Ugh !  with  the  gold  earrings,  waving  his  arms 
from  amidst  the  surf  on  the  reef,  called  to  me  to  come 
and  see  a  big  feke.  As  his  companions  were  dancing 
about  and  yelling  madly,  I  left  the  laundrying  of  the 
small  sea-devils  and  splashed  two  hundred  yards  through 
the  lagoon  to  the  scene  of  excitement. 

Four  of  the  crew  had  attacked  a  giant  devil-fish,  which 


56  WHITE  SHADOWS 

was  hidden  in  a  cave  in  the  rocks.  From  the  gloom  it 
darted  out  its  long  arms  and  tried  to  seize  the  strange 
creatures  that  menaced  it.  The  naked  boatsmen,  danc- 
ing just  out  of  reach  of  the  writhing  tentacles,  struck  at 
them  with  long  knives.  As  they  cut  off  pieces  of  the 
curling,  groping  gristle,  I  thought  I  heard  a  horrible 
groan  from  the  cave,  almost  like  the  voice  of  a  human  in 
agony.  I  stayed  six  feet  away,  for  I  had  no  knife  and 
no  relish  for  the  game. 

Four  of  the  long  arms  had  been  severed  at  the  ends 
when  suddenly  the  octopus  came  out  of  his  den  to  fight 
for  his  life.  He  was  a  reddish-purple  globe  of  horrid 
flesh,  horned  all  over,  with  a  head  not  unlike  an  ele- 
phant's, but  with  large,  demoniacal  eyes,  bitter,  hating 
eyes  that  roved  from  one  to  another  of  us  as  if  selecting 
his  prey.  Eight  arms,  some  shorn  of  their  suckers, 
stretched  out  ten  feet  toward  us. 

The  Marquesans  retreated  precipitately,  and  I  led 
them,  laughing  nervously,  but  not  joyously.  The  son 
of  Ugh !  stopped  first. 

"Ta!  Ta!  Ta!  Tat"  he  cried.  "Are  we  afraid  of  that 
ugly  beast?  I  have  killed  many.  Pakeka!  We  will 
eat  him,  too!" 

He  turned  with  the  others  and  advanced  toward  the 
jeke,  shouting  scornful  names  at  him,  threatening  him 
with  death  and  being  eaten,  warning  him  that  the  sooner 
he  gave  up,  the  quicker  ended  his  agony.  But  the  devil- 
fish was  not  afraid.  His  courage  shamed  mine.  I  was 
behind  the  barrier  of  the  boatsmen,  but  once  in  the  throes 
of  the  fight  a  slimy  arm  passed  between  two  of  them  and 
wound  itself  around  my  leg.  I  screamed  out,  for  it  was 
icy  cold  and  sent  a  sickening  weakness  all  through  me, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  57 

so  that  I  could  not  have  swum  a  dozen  feet  with  it  upon 
me.  One  of  the  natives  cut  it  off,  and  still  it  clung  to 
my  bloodless  skin  until  I  plucked  it  away. 

The  son  of  Ugh !  had  two  of  the  great  arms  about  him 
at  one  time,  but  his  companions  hacked  at  them  until  he 
was  free.  Then,  regardless  of  the  struggles  of  the 
maimed  devil,  they  closed  in  on  him  and  stabbed  his 
head  and  body  until  he  died.  During  these  last  mo- 
ments I  was  amazed  and  sickened  to  hear  the  octopus 
growling  and  moaning  in  its  fuiy  and  suffering.  His 
voice  had  a  curious  timbre.  I  once  heard  a  man  dying 
of  hydrophobia  make  such  sounds,  half  animal,  half 
human. 

"That  feke  would  have  killed  and  eaten  any  one  of 
us,"  said  the  son  of  Ugh!  "Not  many  are  so  big  as  he, 
but  here  in  Hana  Hevane,  where  seldom  any  one  fished, 
they  are  the  biggest  in  the  world.  They  lie  in  these 
holes  in  the  rocks  and  catch  fish  and  crabs  as  they  swim 
by.  My  cousin  was  taken  by  one  while  fishing,  and  was 
dragged  down  into  the  hidden  caverns.  He  was  last 
seen  standing  on  a  ledge,  and  the  next  day  his  bones 
were  found  picked  clean.  A  shark  is  easier  to  fight 
than  such  a  devil  who  has  so  many  arms." 

The  boatsmen  gathered  up  the  remnants  of  the  foe 
and  brought  them  to  the  beach,  where  the  elder  Ugh! 
was  tending  the  fire.  Crabs  were  broiling  upon  it,  and 
the  pieces  of  the  feke  were  flung  beside  them  and  the 
smaller  octopi. 

When  they  were  cooked,  a  trough  of  popoi  and  one  of 
feikai,  or  roasted  breadfruit  mixed  with  a  cocoanut-milk 
sauce,  were  placed  on  the  sand,  and  all  squatted  to  dine. 
For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  only  sounds  were  the  plup 


58  WHITE  SHADOWS 

of  fingers  withdrawn  from  mouths  filled  with  popoi,  and 
the  faint  creaming  of  waves  on  the  beach.  Marquesans 
feel  that  eating  is  serious  business.  The  devil-fish  and 
crabs  were  the  delicacies,  and  served  as  dessert.  Black- 
ened by  the  fire,  squid  and  crustacean  were  eaten  without 
condiment,  the  tentacles  being  devoured  as  one  eats 
celery.  I  was  soon  satisfied,  and  while  they  lingered 
over  their  food  and  smoked  I  strolled  up  the  valley  a 
little  way,  still  feeling  the  pressure  of  that  severed  arm. 

Hana  Hevane  had  its  people  one  time.  They  van- 
ished as  from  a  hundred  other  valleys,  before  the  march 
of  progress.  The  kindly  green  of  the  jungle  had  hidden 
the  marks  of  human  habitations,  where  once  they  had 
lived  and  loved  and  died. 

Only  the  bones  of  La  Corse,  the  schooner  Jerome 
Capriata  had  sailed  many  years,  lay  rotting  under  a 
grotesque  and  dark  banian,  never  more  to  feel  the  foot 
of  man  upon  the  deck  or  to  toss  upon  the  sea.  A  consol- 
ing wave  lapped  the  empty  pintles  and  gave  the  decay- 
ing craft  a  caress  by  the  element  whose  mistress  she  so 
long  had  been.  Her  mast  was  still  stepped,  but  a  hun- 
dred centipedes  crawled  over  the  hull. 

When  I  returned  to  the  fire,  the  boatmen  were  talk- 
ing. Ugh!  Dried-up  Stream!  his  stomach  full  and 
smoke  in  his  mouth,  bethought  himself  of  a  tale,  an  inci- 
dent of  this  very  spot.  In  a  sardonic  manner  he  began : 

"The  men  of  this  island,  Tahuata,  in  the  old  days 
descended  on  Fatu-hiva  to  hunt  the  man-meat.  After 
the  battle,  they  brought  their  captives  to  Hana  Hevane 
to  rest,  to  build  a  fire  and  to  eat  one  of  their  catch.  This 
they  did,  and  departed  again.  But  when  they  were  in 
their  canoes,  they  found  they  had  forgotten  a  girl  whom 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  59 

they  had  thrown  on  the  sand,  and  they  returned  for  her. 
The  sea  was  rough,  and  they  had  to  stay  here  on  the 
beach  for  the  night. 

"As  was  the  custom,  they  erected  a  gibbet,  two  posts 
and  a  horizontal  bar,  and  on  the  bar  they  hung  the  living 
prisoners,  with  a  cord  of  parau  bark  passed  through  the 
scalp  and  tied  around  the  hair.  Their  arms  were  tied 
behind  them,  and  they  swung  in  the  breeze. 

"In  the  night,  when  the  Tahuata  men  slept  from  their 
gluttony,  one  of  them  arose  silently  and  unbound  a  pris- 
oner who  was  his  friend,  and  told  him  to  run  to  the 
mountains.  He  then  lay  down  and  slept,  and  in  the 
darkness  this  man  who  had  been  freed  returned  stealth- 
ily in  the  darkness,  and  unloosed  a  girl,  the  same  who 
had  been  forgotten  on  the  sand.  In  the  morning  the 
other  captives  were  dead,  but  those  who  escaped  were 
months  in  the  fastness  of  the  heights,  living  on  roots  and 
on  birds  they  snared.  In  the  end  they  went  to  Motopu. 
They  were  well  received,  for  the  Tahuata  warriors 
thought  a  god  had  aided  them,  and  they  and  their  chil- 
dren lived  long  there." 

Ugh !  smiled  reminiscently  as  if  his  thoughts  were  re- 
turning from  pleasant  things,  and  clapped  his  hands  as  a 
signal  for  reembarking. 

The  bowls  of  food  remaining  were  tied  in  baskets  of 
leaves  and  hung  in  the  banian  tree  to  await  the  boats- 
men's  return  for  the  night,  the  steersman  was  carried  to 
his  place,  and  the  boat  pushed  through  the  surf. 

A  gaunt  shark  swam  close  to  the  reefs  as  we  rowed 
out,  a  hungry,  ill-looking  monster.  One  of  the  bottles 
of  rum  the  oarsmen  had  drunk  on  the  way  to  Hana 
Hevane,  the  other  was  stored  for  their  return,  and  to 


GO  WHITE  SHADOWS 

gain  a  third  the  son  of  Ugh !  offered  to  go  overboard  and 
tie  a  rope  to  the  shark's  tail,  which  is  the  way  natives 
often  catch  them.  A  shark  was  not  worth  a  liter  of  rum, 
I  said,  being  in  no  mind  to  risk  the  limbs  of  a  man  in 
such  a  sport.  Besides,  I  had  no  more  to  give  away.  I 
could  imagine  the  rage  of  Seventh  Man  Who  Wallows 
should  he  learn  of  my  wasting  in  such  foolishness  what 
would  keep  us  both  warm  if  it  rained. 

As  we  caught  the  wind  a  flock  of  koio  came  close  to  us 
in  their  search  for  fish.  The  black  birds  were  like  a 
cloud ;  there  must  have  been  fifty  thousand  of  them,  and 
flying  over  us  they  completely  cut  off  the  sunlight,  like 
a  dark  storm.  If  they  had  taken  a  fancy  to  settle  on  us 
they  must  have  smothered  us  under  a  feathered  ava- 
lanche. Ugh!  was  startled  and  amazed  that  the 
birds  should  come  so  close,  and  all  raised  an  uproar  of 
voices  and  waved  arms  and  oars  in  the  air,  to  frighten 
them  off.  They  passed,  the  sun  shone  upon  us  again, 
and  in  a  sparkling  sea  we  made  our  way  past  Iva  Iva  Iti 
and  Iva  Iva  Nui,  rounding  a  high  green  shore  into  the 
bay  of  Vait-hua. 

The  mountains  above  the  valley  loomed  like  castel- 
lated summits  of  Italy,  so  like  huge  stone  fortresses  that 
one  might  mistake  them  for  such  from  the  sea.  The 
tiny  settlement  reaching  from  the  beach  half  a  mile  up 
the  glen  was  screened  by  its  many  trees. 

The  whaleboat  slid  up  to  a  rocky  ledge,  and  my  lug- 
gage and  I  were  put  ashore.  Exploding  Eggs,  who 
had  insisted  on  accompanying  me,  took  it  into  his  charge, 
and  with  it  balanced  on  his  shoulders  we  sauntered  along 
the  road  to  the  village  where  the  French  gendarme  had 
lost  his  nose  to  the  mad  namw-drinker. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Idyllic  valley  of  Vait-hua;  the  beauty  of  Vanquished  Often;  bathing  on 
the  beach;  an  unexpected  proposal  of  marriage. 

THE  beach  followed  the  semi-circle  of  the  small 
bay,  and  was  hemmed  in  on  both  sides  by  mas- 
sive black  rocks,  above  which  rose  steep  moun- 
tains covered  with  verdure.  The  narrow  valley  itself 
sloped  upward  on  either  hand  to  a  sheer  wall  of  cliffs. 
In  the  couple  of  miles  from  the  water's  edge  to  the 
jungle  tangle  of  the  high  hills  were  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands of  cocoanut-palms,  breadfruit-,  mango-,  banana-, 
and  lime-trees,  all  speaking  of  the  throng  of  people 
that  formerly  inhabited  this  lovely  spot,  now  so  deserted. 
The  tiny  settlement  remaining,  with  its  scattered  few 
habitations,  was  beautiful  beyond  comparison.  A  score 
or  so  of  houses,  small,  but  neat  and  comfortable, 
wreathed  with  morning-glory  vines  and  shaded  by  trees, 
clustered  along  the  bank  of  a  limpid  stream  crossed  at 
intervals  by  white  stepping-stones.  Naked  children, 
whose  heads  were  wreathed  with  flowers,  splashed  in 
sheltered  pools,  or  fled  like  moving  brown  shadows  into 
the  sun-flecked  depths  of  the  glade  as  we  approached. 

We  were  met  beneath  a  giant  banian-tree  by  the  chief, 
who  greeted  us  with  simple  dignity  and  led  us  at  once  to 
his  house.  The  most  pretentious  in  the  village,  it  con- 
sisted of  two  rooms,  built  of  redwood  boards  from  Cali- 
fornia, white-washed,  clean,  and  bare,  opening  through 
wide  doors  upon  the  broad  paepae.  This  house,  the 

61 


62  WHITE  SHADOWS 

chief  insisted,  was  to  be  my  home  while  I  remained  his 
guest  in  Vait-hua.  My  polite  protestations  he  waved 
away  with  a  courtly  gesture  and  an  obdurate  smile.  I 
was  an  American,  and  his  guest. 

My  visit  was  obviously  a  great  event  in  the  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Seventh  Man  Who  Is  So  Angry  He  Wallows  In 
The  Mire.  A  laughing  Juno  of  thirty  years,  large  and 
rounded  as  a  breadfruit-tree,  more  than  six  feet  in 
height,  with  a  mass  of  blue-black  hair  and  teeth  that 
flashed  white  as  a  fresh-opened  cocoanut,  she  rose  from 
her  mat  on  the  paepae  and  rubbed  my  nose  ceremoni- 
ously with  hers.  Clothed  in  a  necklace  of  false  pearls 
and  a  brilliantly  scarlet  loincloth,  she  was  truly  a  bar- 
baric figure,  yet  in  her  eye  I  beheld  that  instant  pre- 
occupation with  household  matters  that  greets  the  unex- 
pected guest  the  world  over. 

While  the  chief  and  I  reclined  upon  mats  and  Explod- 
ing Eggs  sat  vigilant  at  my  side,  she  vanished  into  the 
house,  and  shortly  returned  to  set  before  us  a  bowl  of 
popoi  and  several  cocoanuts.  These  we  ate  while  Neo 
discoursed  sadly  upon  the  evil  times  that  had  befallen  his 
reign. 

"Me  very  busy  when  prenty  ship  come,"  he  mourned. 
"Me  fix  for  wood ;  get  seven  dollar  load.  Me  fix  for  girl 
for  captain  and  mate.  Me  stay  ship,  eat  hard-tackee, 
salt  horsee,  chew  tobacco,  drink  rum.  Good  time  he  all 
dead." 

The  repast  ended,  we  set  out  to  view  the  depleted  vil- 
lage with  its  few  inhabitants,  the  remainder  after  Eu- 
rope had  subtracted  native  habits  and  native  health. 

The  gorge  that  parted  the  valley  was  wide  and  deep 
for  the  silver  stream  that  sang  its  way  to  the  bay. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  63 

When  the  rain  fell  in  cascades  the  channel  hardly  con- 
tained the  mad  torrent  that  raced  from  the  heights,  a 
torrent  that  had  destroyed  the  road  built  years  before 
when  whaler's  ships  by  the  dozens  came  each  year. 
Now  the  natives  made  their  way  as  of  old,  up  and  down 
rocky  trails  and  over  the  stepping-stones. 

Near  the  beach  we  came  upon  a  group  of  tumble- 
down shanties,  remnants  of  the  seat  of  government. 
Only  a  thatched  schoolhouse  and  a  tiny  cabin  for  the 
teacher  were  habitable.  Here  the  single  artist  of  the 
islands,  Monsieur  Charles  Le  Moine,  had  taught  the 
three  "R's"  to  Vait-hua's  adolescents  for  years.  He 
was  away  now,  Neo  said,  but  we  found  his  cabin  open 
and  littered  with  canvases,  sketches,  paint-tubes,  and 
worn  household  articles. 

"He  got  litt'ee  broomee,  an'  sweep  paint  out  litt'ee 
pipe  on  thing  make  ship's  sails,"  Neo  explained. 
Surely  a  description  of  a  broad  modern  style. 

On  the  wall  or  leaning  against  it  on  the  floor  were  a 
dozen  drawings  and  oils  of  a  young  girl  of  startling 
beauty.  Laughing,  clear-eyed,  she  seemed  almost  to 
speak  from  the  canvas,  filling  the  room  with  charm. 
Here  she  leaned  against  a  palm-trunk,  her  bare  brown 
body  warm  against  its  gray;  there  she  stood  on  a  white 
beach,  a  crimson  pareu  about  her  loins  and  hibiscus 
flowers  in  her  hair. 

"That  Hinatini,"  said  Seventh  Man  Who  Wallows, 
speaking  always  in  what  he  supposed  to  be  English. 
"She  some  pumkin,  eh?  Le  Moine  like  more  better 
make  tiki  like  this  than  say  book.  She  my  niece." 

The  rich  colors  of  the  pictures  sang  like  bugle-notes 
among  the  shabby  odds  and  ends  of  the  studio.  A  cot, 


64  WHITE  SHADOWS 

a  broken  chair  or  two,  a  table  smeared  with  paints,  an 
old  shoe,  a  pipe,  and  a  sketch  of  the  Seine,  gave  me  La 
Moine  in  his  European  birthright,  but  the  absence  of 
any  European  comforts,  the  lack  even  of  dishes  and  a 
lamp,  told  me  that  Montmartre  would  not  know  him 
again.  The  eyes  of  the  girl  who  lived  on  the  canvases 
said  that  Le  Moine  was  claimed  by  the  Land  of  the 
War  Fleet. 

Turning  from  the  dingy  interior  of  his  cabin,  I  saw 
in  the  sunlight  beyond  the  door  his  model  in  the  life. 
Le  Moine  had  not  the  brush  to  do  her  justice.  Van- 
quished Often,  as  Hinatini  means,  was  perhaps  thirteen 
years  old,  with  a  grace  of  carriage,  a  beauty  and  per- 
fection of  features,  a  rich  coloring  no  canvas  could  de- 
pict. Her  skin  was  of  warm  olive  hue,  with  tinges  of 
red  in  the  cheeks  and  the  lips  cherry-ripe.  Her  eyes 
were  dark  brown,  large,  melting,  childishly  introspec- 
tive. Her  hands  were  shapely,  and  her  little  bare  feet, 
arched,  rosy-nailed,  were  like  flowers  on  the  sand.  She 
wore  the  thinnest  of  sheer  white  cotton  tunics,  and 
there  were  flamboyant  flowers  in  the  shining  dark  hair 
that  tumbled  to  her  waist. 

She  greeted  me  with  the  eager  artlessness  of  the  child 
that  she  was.  She  was  on  her  way  to  the  vai  puna,  the 
spring  by  the  beach,  she  said.  Would  I  accompany 
her  thither  ?  And  would  I  tell  her  of  the  women  of  my 
people  in  the  strange  islands  of  the  Menike?  They 
were  very  far  away,  were  they  not,  those  islands  ?  Far- 
ther even  than  Tahiti?  How  deep  beneath  the  sea 
could  their  women  dive  ? 

I  answered  these,  and  other  questions,  while  we 
walked  down  the  beach,  and  I  marveled  at  the  uncon- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  65 

scious  grace  of  her  movements.  The  chief  wonder 
of  all  these  Marquesans  is  the  beauty  and  erectness  of 
their  standing  and  walking  postures.  Their  chests  are 
broad  and  deep,  their  bosoms,  even  in  girls  of  Van- 
quished Often's  age,  rounded,  superb,  and  their  limbs 
have  an  ease  of  motion,  an  animal-like  litheness  un- 
known to  our  clothed  and  dress-bound  women. 

Vanquished  Often  was  the  most  perfect  type  of  all 
these  physical  perfections,  a  survival  of  those  wondrous 
Marquesan  women  who  addled  the  wits  of  the  whites  a 
century  ago.  There  was  no  blemish  on  her,  nor  any 
feature  one  would  alter. 

Half  a  dozen  of  her  comrades  were  lounging  upon 
the  sand  when  we  reached  the  via  puna.  Here  an  iron 
pipe  in  the  mountain-side  tapped  subterranean  waters, 
and  a  hollowed  cocoanut-tree  gave  them  exit  upon  the 
sand  where  salt  waves  flowed  up  to  meet  them.  Long 
lean  curving  cocoanuts  arched  above,  and  beneath  their 
ribbons  of  shade  lay  an  old  canoe,  upon  which  sat  those 
who  waited  their  turn  to  bathe,  to  fill  calabashes,  or 
merely  to  gossip. 

For  all  time,  they  said,  this  had  been  the  center  of 
life  in  Vait-hua.  Old  wives'  tales  had  been  told  here 
for  generations.  The  whalers  filled  their  casks  at  this 
spring,  working  every  hour  of  the  twenty-four  because 
the  flow  was  small.  Famous  harpooners,  steersmen 
who  winked  no  eye  when  the  wounded  whale  drew  their 
boat  through  a  smother  of  foam,  shanghaied  gentle- 
men, sweepings  of  harbors,  Nantucket  deacons,  pirates, 
and  the  whole  breed  of  sailors  and  fighting  fellows,  con- 
gregated here  to  bathe  and  to  fill  their  water-casks. 
Near  this  crystal  rivulet  they  slashed  each  other  in  their 


66  WHITE  SHADOWS 

quarrels  over  Viat-hua's  fairest,  and  exchanged  their 
slop -chest  luxuries  and  grog  for  the  favors  of  the  island 
chiefs. 

It  was  Standard  Oil,  sending  around  the  world  its 
tipoti,  or  tin  cans,  filled  with  illuminating  fluid  cheaper 
than  that  of  the  whale,  that  ended  the  days  of  the  ships 
in  Vait-hua,  and  they  sailed  away  for  the  last  time,  leav- 
ing an  island  so  depopulated  that  its  few  remaining  peo- 
ple could  slip  back  into  the  life  of  the  days  before  the 
whites  came. 

"Alice  Snow  las'  whaleship  come  Vait-hua  six  years 
before,"  said  the  Seventh  Man  Who  Wallows.  "Be- 
fore that,  one  ship,  California  name,  Captain  Andrew 
Hicks.  Charlie,  he  sailmaker,  run  away  from  Andrew 
Hicks.  One  Vait-hua  girl  look  good  to  him.  She  hide 
him  in  hills  till  captain  make  finish  chase  him.  That 
him  children." 

Indeed,  most  of  the  faces  turned  toward  me  from  the 
group  about  the  spring  were  European,  either  by  recent 
heredity  or  tribal  nature.  I  could  see  the  Saxon,  the 
Latin,  and  the  Viking,  and  one  girl  was  all  Japanese, 
a  reference  to  which  caused  her  to  weep.  "lapona" 
was  to  her  pretty  ears  the  meanest  word  in  Vait-hua's 
vocabulary,  and  her  playmates  held  it  in  reserve  for 
important  disagreements. 

Vanquished  Often,  slipping  from  her  white  tunic, 
stepped  beneath  the  stream  of  crystal  water  and  laughed 
at  the  cool  delight  of  it  on  her  smooth  skin.  It  was  a 
picture  of  which  artist's  dream,  the  naked  girl  laughing 
in  the  torrents  of  transparent  water,  the  wet  crimson 
blossoms  washing  from  her  drowned  hair,  and  beneath 
the  striped  shade  of  the  palm-trunks  her  simple,  savage 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  67 

companions  waiting  their  turn,  squatting  on  the  sand 
or  crowded  on  the  canoe,  their  loins  wrapped  in  crim- 
son and  blue  and  yellow  pareus.  Behind  them  all  the 
mountains  rose  steeply,  a  mass  of  brilliant  green  jungle 
growth,  and  before  them,  across  the  rim  of  shining  white 
sand,  spread  the  wide  blue  sea. 

Courtesy  suggested  that  I  should  be  next  to  feel  the 
refreshing  torrent.  We  let  slip  the  garment  of  timor- 
ous covering  very  easily  when  nudity  is  commonplace. 
Vait-hua  was  to  teach  me  to  be  modest  without  pother, 
to  chat  with  those  about  me  during  my  ablutions  with- 
out concern  for  the  false  vanities  of  screens  or  even  the 
shelter  of  rocks  as  in  the  river  in  Atuona.  In  such 
scenes  one  perceives  that  immodesty  is  in  the  false  shame 
that  makes  one  cling  to  clothes,  rather  than  in  the  simple 
virtues  that  walk  naked  and  unashamed. 

Tacitus  recites  that  chastity  was  a  controlling  virtue 
among  the  Teutons,  ranking  among  women  as  bravery 
among  men,  yet  all  Teutons  bathed  in  the  streams  to- 
gether. In  Japan  both  sexes  bathe  in  public  in  natural 
hot  pools,  and  that  without  diffidence.  The  Japanese, 
though  a  people  of  many  clothes,  regard  nudity  with  in- 
difference, but  use  garments  to  conceal  the  contour  of 
the  human  form,  while  we  are  horrified  by  nakedness 
and  yet  use  dress  to  enhance  the  form,  especially  to 
emphasize  the  difference  between  sexes.  Our  women's 
accentuated  hips  and  waistlines  shock  the  Japanese, 
whose  loose  clothing  is  the  same  for  men  and  women, 
the  broader  belt  and  double  fold  upon  the  small  of  the 
back,  the  obi,  being  the  only  differentiation. 

Mohammedan  women  surprised  in  bathing  cover 
their  faces  first ;  the  Chinese,  the  feet.  Good  Erasmus, 


68  WHITE  SHADOWS 

that  Dutch  theologian,  said  that  "angels  abhor  naked- 
ness." Devout  Europeans  of  his  day  never  saw  their 
own  bodies ;  if  they  bathed,  they  wore  a  garment  cover- 
ing them  from  head  to  feet.  Thus  standards  of  cloth- 
ing vary  from  age  to  age  and  from  country  to  country. 

Missionaries  bewilder  the  savage  mind  by  imposing 
their  own  standards  of  the  moment  and  calling  them 
modesty.  The  African  negro,  struggling  to  har- 
monize these  two  ideas,  wore  a  tall  silk  hat  and  a  pair 
of  slippers  as  his  only  garments  when  he  obeyed  Living- 
stone's exhortations  to  clothe  himself  in  the  presence  of 
white  women. 

Vait-hua  was  all  savage;  whatever  bewilderments  the 
missionaries  had  brought  had  faded  when  dwindling 
population  left  the  isle  to  its  own  people.  In  the  minds 
of  my  happy  companions  at  the  via  puna,  modesty  had 
no  more  to  do  with  clothing  than,  among  us,  it  had  to  do 
with  food.  The  standards  of  the  individual  are  every- 
where formed  by  the  mass-opinion  of  those  about  him; 
I  came  from  my  bath,  replaced  my  garments,  and  felt 
myself  Marquesan. 

The  sensation  was  false.  Savage  peoples  can  never 
understand  our  philosophy,  our  complex  springs  of 
action.  They  may  ape  our  manners,  wear  our  orna- 
ments, and  seek  our  company,  but  their  souls  remain 
indifferent.  They  laugh  when  we  are  stolid.  They 
weep  when  we  are  unmoved.  Their  gods  and  devils 
are  not  ours. 

From  our  side,  too,  the  abyss  is  impassable.  Civiliza- 
tion with  its  refinements  and  complexities  has  stripped 
us  of  the  power  of  complete  surrender  to  simple  im- 
pulses. The  white  who  would  become  like  a  natural 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  69 

savage  succeeds  only  in  becoming  a  beast.  "Plus  sauv- 
age  que  les  kanakas"  is  a  proverb  in  the  islands.  Its 
implications  I  had  occasion  to  heed  ere  the  evening  was 
ended. 

Wrapped  only  in  a  gorgeous  red  pareu,  I  sat  on  the 
paepae  of  the  chief's  house,  now  become  mine.  I  was 
the  especial  care  of  Mrs.  Seventh  Man  Who  Wallows, 
who  all  afternoon  long  had  sat  on  her  haunches  over  a 
cocoanut  husk  fire  stirring  savory  foods  for  me.  Fish, 
chickens,  pigs,  eggs,  and  native  delicacies  of  all  kinds 
she  had  cooked  and  sauced  so  appetizingly  that  I  con- 
ferred on  her  the  title  of  "Chefess"  de  Cuisine,  and 
voiced  my  suspicions  that  some  deserting  cook  from  a 
flagship  had  traded  his  lore  for  her  kisses.  Her  laugh- 
ter was  spiced  with  pride,  and  the  chief  himself  smilingly 
nodded  and  gestured  to  assure  me  that  I  had  guessed 
right. 

Now  in  the  quiet  of  the  evening,  empty  bowls  re- 
moved, pandanus-leaf  cigarettes  lighted,  and  pipe  pass- 
ing from  hand  to  hand,  we  sat  rejoicing  in  the  sweet 
odors  of  the  fores,  the  murmur  of  the  stream,  and  the 
ease  of  contentment.  Many  elders  of  the  village  had 
come  to  meet  the  stranger,  to  discuss  the  world  and  its 
wonders,  and  to  marvel  at  the  ways  of  the  whites.  The 
glow  of  the  pipe  lighted  shriveled  yet  still  handsome 
countenances  scrolled  with  tattooing,  and  caught 
gleams  from  rolling  eyes  or  sparkles  from  necklace  and 
earring.  Above  the  mountains  a  full  moon  rose,  flood- 
ing the  valley  with  light  and  fading  the  brilliant  colors 
of  leaf  and  flower  to  pale  pastel  tints. 

Vanquished  Often  sat  beside  me,  her  dark  hair  fall- 
ing over  my  knee,  and  listened  respectfully  to  the  con- 


70  WHITE  SHADOWS 

versation  of  her  elders,  who  discussed  the  gods  of  the 
stranger. 

They  wondered  what  curious  motive  had  impelled 
the  Jews,  the  Aati-Ietu,  to  kill  leto  Kirito  the  Savior 
of  the  world.  They  discussed  the  strange  madness 
that  had  possessed  luda  Iskalota,  that  he  had  first 
bought  land  with  his  forty  pieces  of  silver  and  then 
hanged  himself  to  a  purau  tree.  Was  it  cocoanut  land  ? 
they  asked.  Was  it  not  good  land? 

Often  across  the  worn  stones  of  the  paepae  stole  a 
vei,  a  centipede,  upon  which  a  bare  foot  quickly 
stamped.  The  chief  said  casually,  "If  he  bite  you,  you 
no  die ;  you  have  hell  of  a  time."  They  were  not  natives 
of  the  Marquesas  originally,  he  said;  they  came  in  the 
coal  of  ships.  His  patriotism  outran  his  knowledge, 
for  the  first  discoverers  bitterly  berated  these  poisonous 
creatures,  though  no  more  warmly  than  Neo,  who  drew 
heavily  upon  his  stock  of  English  curses  to  tell  his  opin- 
ion of  them. 

When  the  time  came  for  saying  apae  kaoha  my  kindly 
hosts  sought  to  confer  upon  me  the  last  proof  of  their 
friendliness.  They  proposed  that  I  marry  Vanquished 
Often. 

My  refusal  was  incomprehensible  to  them,  and  Van- 
quished Often's  happy  smile  in  the  moonlight  quickly 
faded  to  a  look  of  pain  and  humiliation.  They  had  of- 
fered me  their  highest  and  most  revered  expression  of 
hospitality.  To  refuse  it  was  as  uncustomary  and  as 
rude  as  to  refuse  the  Alaskan  miner  who  offers  a  drink 
at  a  public  bar. 

"Menike"  pleaded  the  chief,  "that  Hinatini  more 
better  marry  white  man,  friend  of  Teddy,  from  number 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  71 

one  island.  She  some  punkins  for  be  good  wife.  Sup- 
pose may  be  you  like  Vait-hua  you  stay  long  time ;  sup- 
pose you  go  soon,  make  never  mind !" 

The  fair  chieftess  shook  her  earrings  and  smiled 
archly.  "Bonne  filly  pooh  voo,  Menike,"  she  urged  in 
her  Marquesan  French.  "Good  wife  for  you.  It  is 
my  pleasure  that  you  are  happy.  She  is  beautiful  and 
good.  You  will  be  the  son  of  our  people  while  you  are 
here." 

Vanquished  Often,  who  had  a  vague  notion  of  the 
greatness  of  her  uncle's  Menike  friends,  Teddy  and 
Gotali,  and  of  the  desirability  of  an  alliance  with  one  of 
their  tribe,  approached  me  softly  and  rubbed  my  back 
in  a  circle  the  while  she  crooned  a  broken  song  of  the 
whaling  days,  concerning  the  "rolling  Mississippi"  and 
the  "Black  Ball  line."  Seventh  Man  Who  Wallows  in 
the  Mire  himself  began  to  make  concentric  circles  on 
my  breast  with  his  heavy  hand,  so  that  I  was  beset  fore 
and  aft  by  the  most  tender  and  friendly  advances  of  the 
Marquesan  race.  Never  was  hapless  guest  in  more  un- 
fortunate plight. 

She  was  but  a  child,  I  said;  Americans  did  not  mate 
with  children.  They  smiled  as  at  a  pleasantry,  and 
again  extolled  her  charms.  Desperately  I  harked  back 
to  the  ten  commandments  in  an  endeavor  to  support  my 
refusal  by  other  reasons  than  distaste  or  discourtesy, 
but  laughter  met  my  text.  "White  man  does  not  fol- 
low white  man's  tapus"  said  my  hostess,  gently  placing 
my  hand  in  that  of  Vanquished  Often.  The  slender 
fingers  clung  timorously  to  mine.  Unhappy  Hinatini 
feared  that  she  was  about  to  be  disgraced  before  her 
people  by  the  white  man's  scorn  of  her  beauty. 


72  WHITE  SHADOWS 

I  was  fain  to  invent  a  romance  upon  the  spot.  I  was 
madly  enamoured  of  an  Atuona  belle,  I  said.  She 
waited  for  me  upon  my  own  paepae;  she  was  a  mighty 
woman  and  swift  to  anger.  She  would  wreak  ven- 
geance upon  me,  and  upon  Vanquished  Often.  I 
would  adopt  Vanquished  Often  as  my  sister.  In  token 
of  this  I  pressed  my  lips  upon  her  forehead  and  kissed 
her  hands.  She  smiled  bewitchingly,  pleased  by  the 
novel  honor. 

My  hosts  and  their  friends  departed  with  her,  half 
pleased,  half  puzzled  at  this  latest  whimsy  of  the  strange 
white,  and  I  lay  down  upon  the  mats  of  the  chief's 
house,  with  Exploding  Eggs  lying  across  the  doorway 
at  my  feet. 

The  night  brought  fitful  dreams,  and  in  the  darkest 
hour  I  woke  to  feel  a  frightening  thing  upon  my  leg. 
By  the  light  of  the  dimly  burning  lantern  I  saw  a  thou- 
sand-leg, reddish  brown  and  ten  inches  long,  halting 
perhaps  for  breath  midway  between  my  knee  and  waist. 
It  seemed  indeed  to  have  a  thousand  legs,  and  each 
separate  foot  made  impresses  of  terror  on  my  mind, 
while  each  toe  and  claw  clutched  my  bare  flesh  with 
threatening  touch. 

The  brave  man  of  the  tale  who  saves  himself  from 
cobra  or  rattler  by  letting  the  serpent  crawl  its  slow 
way  over  his  perfectly  controlled  body  might  have  with- 
held even  a  quiver  of  the  flesh,  but  I  am  no  Spartan. 
At  my  convulsive  shudder  each  horrid  claw  gripped  a 
death-hold.  In  one  swift  motion  I  seized  a  corkscrew 
that  lay  nearby,  pried  loose  with  a  quick  jerk  every 
single  pede  and  threw  the  odious  thing  a  dozen  yards. 


Nothing  to  do  but  rest  all  day 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  78 

A  trail  of  red,  inflamed  spots  rose  where  it  had  stood 
and  remained  painful  and  swollen  for  days. 

Whether  it  was  because  this  experience  became  mixed 
with  my  first  dreams  in  beautiful  Vait-hua,  or  whether 
my  Celtic  blood  sees  portents  where  they  do  not  exist, 
certain  it  is  that  as  the  stealthy  charm  of  that  idyllic 
place  grew  upon  me  through  the  days  something  within 
me  resisted  it.  I  was  ever  aware  that  its  beauty  con- 
cealed a  menace  deadly  to  the  white  man  who  listened 
too  long  to  the  rustle  of  its  palms  and  the  murmur  of  its 
stream. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Communal  life;  sport  in  the  waves;  fight  of  the  sharks  and  the  mother 
whale;  a  day  in  the  mountains;  death  of  Le  Capitane  Halley;  return 
to  Atuona. 

LIFE  in  Vait-hua  was  idyllic.     The  whites,  hav- 
ing   desolated     and    depopulated    this    once 
thronged  valley,  had  gone,  leaving  the  remnant 
of  its  people  to  return  to  their  native  virtue  and  quie- 
tude.    Here,  perhaps  more  than  in  any  other  spot  in 
all  the  isles,  the  Marquesan  lived  as  his  forefathers  had 
before  the  whites  came. 

Doing  nothing  sweetly  was  an  art  in  Vait-hua. 
Pleasure  is  nature's  sign  of  approval.  When  man  is 
happy,  he  is  in  harmony  with  himself  and  his  environ- 
ment. The  people  of  this  quiet  valley  did  not  crave 
excitement.  The  bustle  and  nervous  energy  of  the 
white  wearied  them  excessively.  Time  was  never 
wasted,  to  their  minds,  for  leisure  was  the  measure  of 
its  value. 

Domestic  details,  the  preparation  of  food,  the  care  of 
children,  the  nursing  of  the  sick,  were  the  tasks  of  all 
the  household.  Husband  and  wife,  or  the  mates  un- 
married, labored  together  in  delightful  unity.  Often 
the  woman  accompanied  her  man  into  the  forests,  assist- 
ing in  the  gathering  of  nuts  and  breadfruit,  in  the  fish- 
ing and  the  building.  When  these  duties  did  not  oc- 
cupy them,  or  when  they  were  not  together  bathing 
in  the  river  or  at  the  via  puna,  they  sat  side  by  side 

74 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  75 

on  their  paepaes  in  meditation.  They  might  discuss 
the  events  of  the  day,  they  might  receive  the  visits  of 
others,  or  go  abroad  for  conversation;  but  for  hours 
they  often  were  wrapped  in  their  thoughts,  in  a  silence 
broken  only  by  the  rolling  of  their  pandanus  cigarettes 
or  the  lighting  of  the  mutual  pipe. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking?"  I  said  often  to  my 
neighbors  when  breaking  in  upon  their  meditation. 

"Of  the  world.     Of  those  stars,"  they  replied. 

They  would  sympathize  with  that  Chinese  traveler 
who,  visiting  America  and  being  hurried  from  carriage 
to  train,  smiled  at  our  idea  of  catching  the  fleeting 
moment. 

"We  save  ten  minutes  by  catching  this  train,"  said 
his  guide,  enthusiastically. 

"And  what  will  you  do  with  that  ten  minutes?"  de- 
manded the  Chinese. 

To  be  busy  about  anything  not  necessary  to  living 
is,  in  Marquesan  wisdom,  to  be  idle. 

Swimming  in  the  surf,  lolling  at  the  via  puna,  angling 
from  rock  or  canoe  or  fishing  with  line  and  spear  out- 
side the  bay,  searching  for  shell-fish,  and  riding  or  walk- 
ing over  the  hills  to  other  valleys,  filled  their  peaceful, 
pleasant  days.  A  dream-like,  care-free  life,  lived  by  a 
people  sweet  to  know,  handsome  and  generous  and 
loving. 

That  he  never  saw  or  heard  of  the  slightest  quarrel 
between  individuals  was  the  statement  a  century  ago 
of  Captain  Porter,  the  American.  Then  as  now  the 
most  perfect  harmony  prevailed  among  them.  They 
lived  like  affectionate  brothers  of  one  family,  he  said, 
the  authority  of  the  chiefs  being  only  that  of  fathers 


76  WHITE  SHADOWS 

among  children.  They  had  no  mode  of  punishment  for 
there  were  no  offenders.  Theft  was  unknown,  and  all 
property  was  left  unguarded.  So  Porter,  who,  with 
his  ship's  company,  killed  so  many  Marquesans,  was 
fully  aware  of  their  civic  virtues,  their  kindness,  gentle- 
ness and  generosity. 

It  is  so  to-day,  in  Vait-hua  where  the  whites  are  not. 
I  have  had  my  trousers  lifted  from  my  second-story 
room  in  a  Manila  hotel  by  the  eyed  and  fingered  bamboo 
of  the  Tagalog  ladron,  while  I  washed  my  face,  and 
stood  aghast  at  the  mystery  of  their  disappearance  with 
door  locked,  until  looking  from  my  lofty  window  I 
beheld  them  moving  rapidly  down  an  estero  in  a  banca. 
I  have  given  over  my  watch  to  a  gendarme  in  Cairo 
to  forfend  arrest  for  having  beaten  an  Arab  who  tripped 
me  to  pick  my  pocket,  and  I  have  surrendered  to  the 
rapacity  of  a  major-general-uniformed  official  in  Italy, 
who  would  incarcerate  me  for  not  having  a  tail-light 
lit.  In  San  Francisco,  when  robbed  upon  the  public 
street,  I  have  listened  while  the  police  suggested  that 
I  offer  a  fee  to  the  "king  of  the  dips"  and  a  reward 
to  certain  saloonkeepers  to  intercede  with  the  unknown- 
to-me  highwaymen  for  the  return  of  an  heirloom. 

Yet  through  the  darkest  nights  in  Vait-hua  I  slept 
serenely,  surrounded  by  all  the  possessions  so  desirable 
in  the  eyes  of  my  neighbors,  in  a  house  the  doors  of 
which  were  never  fastened.  There  was  not  a  lock  in 
all  the  village,  or  anything  that  answered  the  purpose 
of  one.  The  people  of  this  isolated  valley,  forgetting 
their  brief  encounter  with  the  European  idea  of  money 
and  of  the  accumulation  of  property,  had  reverted  to 
the  ways  of  their  fathers. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  77 

Before  interference  with  their  natural  customs  the 
Marquesans  were  communists  to  a  large  degree.  Their 
only  private  property  consisted  of  houses,  weapons,  or- 
naments, and  clothing,  for  the  personal  use  of  the  owner 
himself.  All  large  works,  such  as  the  erection  of 
houses,  the  building  of  large  canoes,  and,  in  ancient 
days,  the  raising  of  paepaes  and  temples,  were  done  by 
mutual  cooperation;  though  each  family  provided  its 
own  food  and  made  provision  for  the  future  by  storing 
breadfruit  in  the  popoi  pits.  Neo,  like  the  long  line 
of  chiefs  before  him,  had  gathered  a  little  more  of  the 
good  things  of  life  than  had  the  majority,  but  he  was 
in  no  sense  a  dictator,  except  as  personality  won  obe- 
dience. In  the  old  days  a  chief  was  often  relegated 
to  the  ranks  for  failure  in  war,  and  always  for  an  over- 
bearing attitude  toward  the  commoners.  Such  arro- 
gant fellows  were  kicked  out  of  the  seat  of  power  un- 
ceremoniously. 

"Our  pure  republican  policy  approaches  so  near  their 
own,"  said  the  American  naval  captain,  Porter,  a  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

Men  were  honored  for  their  artistry,  highest  place 
being  given  to  the  tattooers,  the  carvers,  the  designers, 
and  builders  of  canoes,  the  architects,  doctors,  and  war- 
riors. Men  and  women  rose  to  influence  and  chiefly 
rank  only  by  deeds  that  won  popular  admiration. 
These  people  were  hero-worshippers,  and  in  the  blood- 
iest of  the  old  days  those  of  fine  soul  who  had  a  mes- 
sage of  entertainment  or  instruction  were  tapu  to  all 
tribes,  so  that  they  could  travel  anywhere  in  safety  and 
were  welcome  guests  in  all  homes. 

It  is  true  that  in  Hawaii  and  Tonga  conquerors  made 


78  WHITE  SHADOWS 

themselves  kings,  but  not  there  or  in  Samoa,  Tahiti,  or 
the  Marquesas  were  kings  supreme  rulers  until  the 
whites  established  them  for  their  own  trade  purposes 
and  sold  them  firearms  by  which  to  maintain  their  power. 

That  day  of  the  whites  had  passed  in  Vait-hua.  The 
chief  now  maintained  his  authority  by  the  fondness  of 
his  people  alone.  Generous  he  was,  and  gentle,  yet  I 
minded  that  he  had  bitten  off  the  nose  of  Severin,  the 
French  gendarme,  when  the  namu  had  made  him  mad. 
Now  whether  guided  by  pride  in  his  discipline  or  by 
memory  of  evil-doing  repented,  he  was  strict  in  his  en- 
forcement of  the  prohibition  of  cocoanut  toddy,  and 
sobriety  made  the  days  and  nights  peaceful. 

Early  in  the  mornings  I  called  "Kaoha!"  from  my 
paepae  to  Mrs.  Seventh  Man,  who  came  each  day  from 
her  bath  in  the  via  puna  attired  in  her  earrings  only. 
Sauntering  along  the  bank  of  the  brook  still  dripping 
from  the  spring,  her  wet  black  hair  clinging  to  her 
shapely  back  and  her  tawny  skin  glistening  in  flickering 
light  and  shade,  she  was  for  all  the  world  my  concep- 
tion of  Mother  Eve  before  even  leaves  were  modesty. 
Her  nudity  was  a  custom  only  at  this  time,  for  when  she 
reappeared  to  aid  Exploding  Eggs  in  preparing  my 
breakfast  she  always  wore  a  scarlet  pareu  and  her  hair 
was  done  like  Bernhardt's. 

Vanquished  Often  appeared  with  her  aunt,  carefully 
dressed  in  spotless,  diaphanous  tunic,  fresh  flowers  in 
her  hair,  a  treasured  pink  silk  garter  clasping  her 
rounded  arm.  "Big  White  Brother,"  she  called  me 
with  pride,  though  often  I  saw  a  sad  wonder  in  her 
great  eyes  as  she  squatted  near,  silently  watching  me. 
Her  possessive  ways  were  pretty  to  see  as  she  walked 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  79 

close  by  my  side  on  the  trail  from  my  cabin  to  the  beach, 
while  Exploding  Eggs  regarded  her  jealously,  insist- 
ing on  his  prerogative  as  Tueni  Oki  Kiki,  Keeper  of  the 
Golden  Bed,  the  glittering  magnificence  of  which  he 
described  minutely  to  her. 

We  arrived  at  a  merry  scene  upon  the  beach. 
Women  and  children  were  in  the  surf,  or  on  rocks  under 
the  cliffs,  fishing  for  popo,  the  young  of  uua.  With 
bamboo  poles  twenty  feet  long  and  lines  of  even  greater 
length,  we  stood  up  to  our  necks  in  the  sea  and  threw 
out  the  hook  baited  with  a  morsel  of  shrimp.  The 
breakers  tumbled  us  about,  the  lines  became  tangled, 
amid  gales  of  laughter  and  a  medley  of  joyous  shouts. 
Tiring  of  fishing,  Vanquished  Often  and  I  would  breast 
the  creaming  waves  side  by  side,  to  turn  far  out  and 
dash  in  on  the  breakers,  overturning  all  but  the  wary. 
Or  a  group  of  us,  climbing  high  on  the  cliffs,  would 
fling  ourselves  again  and  again  into  the  sea,  turning 
in  mid-air,  life  and  delight  quickening  every  muscle. 

Wearying  of  this  sport,  we  embarked  in  canoes,  fish- 
ing or  sailing,  and  many  small  adventures  we  had,  for 
the  younger  and  more  daring  spirits  delighted  in  scar- 
ing me  into  expostulation  or  the  silence  of  the  con- 
demned and  then  saving  my  life  by  a  hair's-breadth. 

We  had  gone  one  morning  about  the  southern  cape, 
and  were  harpooning  swordfish  and  the  gigantic  sun- 
fish  when  a  commotion  a  thousand  feet  away  brought 
shouts  of  warning  from  my  companions.  We  saw  two 
whales,  one  with  a  baby  at  her  breast.  The  other  we 
took  to  be  the  father  whale.  Huge  black  beasts  they 
were.  Upon  this  mated  pair  a  band  of  sharks  had  flung 
themselves  to  seize  the  infant. 


80  WHITE  SHADOWS 

There  were  at  least  twenty-five  sharks  in  the  mad 
mob,  great  white  monsters  thirty  feet  in  length,  man- 
eaters  by  blood-taste,  tigers  in  disposition.  Though 
they  could  not  compare  with  their  prey  in  size  or  power, 
they  had  heads  as  large  as  barrels,  and  mouths  that 
would  drag  a  man  through  their  terrible  gaps.  That 
their  hunger  was  past  all  bounds  was  evident,  for  the 
whale  is  not  often  attacked  by  such  inferior-sized  fish. 
Storms  had  raged  on  the  sea  for  days,  and  maybe  had 
cheated  the  sharks  of  their  usual  food. 

They  swam  around  and  around  the  mountainous  pair, 
darting  in  and  out,  evidently  with  some  plan  of  drawing 
off  the  male.  Both  the  whales  struck  out  incessantly 
with  their  mammoth  flukes;  their  great  tails,  crashing 
upon  the  sea-surface,  lashed  it  to  mountains  of  foam. 
Our  boats  tossed  as  in  a  gale. 

Carried  away  by  the  pity  and  terror  of  the  scene, 
we  shouted  threats  and  curses  at  the  monsters,  calling 
down  on  them  in  Marquesan  the  wrath  of  the  sea-gods. 
Frenziedly  handling  tiller  and  sails,  we  circled  the 
battle,  impotent  to  aid  the  poor  woman-beast  and  her 
baby.  The  sharks  harried  them  as  hounds  a  fox.  Des- 
perately the  parents  fought,  more  than  one  shark  sank 
wounded  to  the  depths  and  one,  turning  its  white  belly 
to  the  sun,  floated  dead  upon  the  waves.  Another 
was  flung  high  in  air  by  a  blow  of  the  mother's  tail. 
But  it  was  an  uneven  contest.  At  last  we  saw  the 
nursling  drawn  from  her  breast,  and  the  mother  her- 
self sank,  still  struggling.  She  may  have  risen,  of 
course,  far  away,  but  she  seemed  disabled. 

We  did  not  wait  about  that  bloody  spot  when  the 
sharks  had  fallen  upon  their  prey,  for  our  canoe  was 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  81 

low  in  the  water,  and  with  such  a  sight  to  warn  us,  we 
did  not  doubt  that  the  loathly  monsters  would  attack 
us. 

From  such  a  sight  it  was  a  relief  to  turn  to  the  moun- 
tains. Along  the  steep  trails  I  roamed  far  with  Van- 
quished Often  and  Exploding  Eggs.  We  played  at 
being  alone  with  nature,  foregoing  in  living  all  that 
the  white  man  had  brought.  I  left  the  house  of  the 
chief  naked  save  for  a  loin-cloth  of  native  make,  and 
I  wore  no  shoes  or  hat.  Vanquished  Often  and  my 
valet  were  attired  as  I,  and  thus  we  shouted  "Kaoha!" 
to  the  chieftess  and  started  toward  adventure. 

Seventh  Man  was  dubious  about  my  setting  off  with- 
out some  prepared  food,  popoi  or  canned  fish  or  bis- 
cuits, and  without  sleeping-mats.  "You  ketchee  hun- 
gery  by  an'  soon,"  he  protested.  "No  got  Gold  Bed 
in  mountains." 

Vanquished  Often  laughed  merrily,  and  the  chief 
looked  like  a  father  whose  child  has  thrown  a  stone  at 
the  bogie-man.  I  rubbed  his  nose  with  mine  in  fare- 
well, and  we  began  our  journey,  barehanded  as  Crusoe, 
yet  more  fortunate  than  he  since  we  were  in  the  best 
of  company  and  I  had  the  comforting  knowledge  that 
Marquesan  youth  would  not  go  hungry  or  permit  me 
to  do  so. 

Our  way  led  up  heights  of  marvelous  beauty,  along 
the  edges  of  deep  defiles  that  opened  below  our  feet 
like  valleys  of  Paradise.  The  candlenut,  the  ama,  with 
its  lilac  bloom,  the  hibiscus  and  pandanus,  green  and 
glossy,  the  petavii,  a  kind  of  banana  the  curving  fronds 
of  which  spread  high  in  air,  the  snake-plant,  makomako, 
a  yellow-flowered  shrub,  and  many  others  none  of  us 


82  WHITE  SHADOWS 

could  name,  carpeted  the  farther  mountain-sides  with 
brilliant  colors.  Everywhere  were  cocoanuts,  guavas, 
and  mangos.  In  the  tree-tops  over  our  heads  the  bind- 
weed shook  its  feathery  seed-pods,  the  parasite  kowtia 
dripped  its  deeply  serrated  leaves  and  crimson  umbels, 
and  thousands  of  orchids  hung  like  butterflies. 

"It  is  beautiful  in  your  islands,  is  it  not?"  Vanquished 
Often  said  wistfully.  "Tell  us  more  of  the  marvels 
there!  Are  the  girls  of  your  valleys  very  lovely,  and 
do  they  all  sleep  in  golden  beds?" 

All  daughters  of  chiefs  slept  in  golden  beds,  I  told 
her.  Often  they  wore  golden  slippers  on  their  feet. 
When  they  wished  to  go  over  the  mountains  they  did 
not  walk,  or  ride  on  donkeys,  but  went  in  seats  cov- 
ered with  velvet,  a  kind  of  cloth  more  soft  than  the 
silk  ribbon  of  her  pink  garter-armlet,  and  these  seats 
were  drawn  at  incredible  speed  by  a  snorting  thing 
made  of  iron,  not  living,  but  stronger  than  a  hundred 
donkeys. 

"How  do  they  make  that  cloth?"  said  Vanquished 
Often,  eagerly.  They  did  not  make  it,  I  explained. 
It  was  made  for  them  by  girls  who  were  not  daughters 
of  chiefs,  and  therefore  had  no  golden  beds. 

Her  eyes  clouded  with  bewilderment,  but  Exploding 
Eggs  listened  breathlessly,  and  demanded  more  tales. 
I  told  them  of  wireless  telegraphy.  This  they  believed 
as  they  believed  the  tales  of  magic  told  by  old  sorcerers, 
but  they  scoffed  at  my  description  of  an  elevator,  per- 
ceiving that  I  was  loosing  the  reins  of  my  fancy  and 
soaring  to  impossibilities. 

"The  girls  in  your  island  must  always  be  happy," 
said  Vanquished  Often,  sighing.  All  daughters  of 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  83 

chiefs  were  happy,  I  said.  "What  is  the  manner  of 
their  fishing?"  asked  Exploding  Eggs. 

In  such  conversation  we  proceeded,  walking  for  miles 
through  a  fairyland  in  which  we  were  the  only  living 
creatures,  save  for  the  small  scurrying  things  that 
slipped  across  the  trail,  and  the  bright-colored  birds 
that  fluttered  through  the  tree-tops. 

At  noon  we  paused  for  luncheon.  Vanquished  Often 
disappeared  in  the  forest,  to  return  shortly  with  her 
gathered-up  tunic  filled  with  mangos  and  guavas,  four 
cocoanuts  slung  in  a  neatly  plaited  basket  of  leaves 
on  her  bare  shoulders.  Exploding  Eggs,  cutting  two 
sticks  of  dry  wood  from  the  underbrush,  whirled  them 
upon  each  other  with  such  speed  and  dexterity  that 
soon  a  small  fire,  fed  by  shreds  of  cocoanut  fiber,  blazed 
on  a  rock,  with  plantains  heaped  about  it  to  roast. 

While  we  rested  after  the  feast  Vanquished  Often, 
squatted  by  my  side,  made  for  my  comfort  a  wide- 
brimmed  hat  of  thick  leaves  pinned  together  with 
thorns,  a  shelter  from  the  sun's  rays  that  was  grateful 
to  my  tender  scalp.  Resuming  our  way,  we  met  upon 
the  trail  a  handsome  small  wild  donkey,  fearful  of  our 
kind,  yet  longing  for  company. 

"Pureekee!"  said  Exploding  Eggs,  meaning  bour- 
rique,  the  French  for  donkey.  And  Vanquished  Often 
related  that  once  hundreds  of  these  beasts  roamed 
through  the  jungle,  descendants  of  a  pair  of  asses  es- 
caped from  a  ship  decades  before,  but  that  most  of 
them  had  starved  to  death  in  dry  periods,  or  been  eaten 
by  hungry  natives. 

Farther  on  we  passed  acres  of  the  sensitive  plant, 
called  by  the  Marquesans  teita  hakcdna,  the  Modest 


84  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Herb.  A  wide  glade  in  a  curve  of  the  mountains  was 
filled  with  a  sea  of  it,  and  my  companions  delighted 
in  dashing  through  its  curiously  nervous  leafage,  that 
shuddered  and  folded  its  feathery  sprays  together  at 
their  touch.  If  shocked  further  it  opened  its  leaflets 
as  if  to  say,  "What's  the  use?  I  'm  shy,  but  I  can't 
stay  under  cover  forever." 

In  such  artless  amusements  the  day  passed,  a  day  that 
remains  forever  an  idyl  of  simple  loveliness  to  me,  such 
as  any  man  is  the  richer  for  having  known.  When 
darkness  overtook  us,  we  made  for  ourselves  the  softest 
of  ferny  beds,  and  slept  serenely,  untroubled  by  any- 
thing, under  the  light  of  the  stars. 

As  we  returned  next  day  to  the  village  in  the  valley, 
we  found  upon  a  hill  far  from  the  beach  the  tombs  of 
the  sailors  who  first  raised  the  standard  of  France  in 
these  islands.  The  eternal  jungle  had  so  housed  in 
their  monuments  that  we  had  hot  work  to  break  through 
the  jealous  lantana  and  pandanus  to  see  the  stones. 
Neither  Vanquished  Often  nor  Exploding  Eggs  had 
ever  cast  eyes  on  them,  and  neither  had  but  a  legendary 
memory  of  how  these  men  of  the  conquering  race  had 
met  their  death. 

A  great  slab  of  native  basalt  eroded  by  seventy  years 
of  sun  and  rain  bore  the  barely  discernible  epitaph: 

"Ci  Git 

Edouard  Michel  Halley 
Capitaine  de  Corvette 

Officier  de  la  Legion  d'honneur 

Fondateur  de  la  colonie  de  Vait-hua 
Mort  ail  champ  d'honneur 
Le  17— bre,  1842" 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  85 

I  read  it  to  my  friends.  They  pressed  their  hands 
to  their  brows  to  conjure  up  a  vision  of  this  dead  man 
whom  their  grandfathers  had  fought  and  slain,  as  I  told 
them  the  story  of  his  death  in  the  jungle  at  our  feet. 

It  was  at  Vait-hua  that  the  French  first  took  posses- 
sion of  the  Marquesas.  Here  already  were  mission- 
aries and  beach-combers  of  many  nationalities,  ardent 
spirits  all,  fighting  each  other  for  the  souls  of  the  na- 
tives; gin  and  the  commandments  at  odds,  ritual  and 
exploitation  contending.  Unable  to  subdue  the  forces 
that  threatened  the  peace  of  his  people,  lotete,  Vait- 
hua's  chief,  sent  a  message  asking  the  help  of  the  French 
admiral.  It  came  at  once;  a  garrison  was  established 
on  the  beach,  and  the  tricolor  rose. 

Whatever  the  cause,  it  had  been  upraised  barely  two 
months  when  chief  and  people  in  a  body  deserted  their 
homes  and  fled  to  the  hills.  Commander  Halley,  hav- 
ing vainly  exhorted  and  commanded  them  to  return, 
declared  war  on  them  in  punishment  for  their  disobedi- 
ence, and  marshaling  his  forces  in  three  columns  set 
out  to  seek  them. 

Ladebat  led  the  van,  armed  with  a  fowling-piece. 
Halley  himself  walked  at  the  head  of  the  middle  column, 
a  youthful,  debonair  Frenchman,  carrying  only  a  cane, 
which  he  swung  jauntily  as  he  followed  the  jungle  trail. 
When  the  soldiers  arrived  at  a  few  feet  from  the  main 
body  of  the  natives,  lotete  advanced  and  cried  out, 


Ladebat  instantly  fired  his  shot-gun  at  the  chief,  and 
instantly  two  balls  from  native  guns  pierced  his  brain. 

"Halley,"  runs  the  old  chronicle,  "advanced  from  the 
shelter  of  a  cocoanut-tree  to  give  orders  to  his  men,  but 


86  WHITE  SHADOWS 

fell  on  his  knees  as  if  in  prayer,  embracing  the  tree, 
three  paces  from  the  corpse  of  Ladebat.  Five  of  his 
men  dropped  mortally  wounded  beside  him.  Third 
Officer  Laferriere  had  the  retreat  sounded." 

Here,  but  a  few  feet  from  the  spot  where  the  gay 
young  Frenchman  fell,  the  jungle  had  covered  his 
tomb.  Fifty  thousand  Marquesans  have  died  to  bring 
peace  to  the  soul  of  that  corvette  commander  who  so 
jauntily  flourished  his  cane  in  the  faces  of  the  wondering 
savages.  lotete  would  better  have  endured  the  pranks 
of  brutal  sea-adventurers,  perhaps.  This  mausoleum 
was  the  seal  of  French  occupancy. 

Farther  down  the  hill  we  came  upon  the  first  church 
built  in  the  Marquesas.  It  was  a  small  wooden  edifice 
bearing  a  weatherbeaten  sign  in  French,  "The  Church 
of  the  Mother  of  God."  Above  the  shattered  doors 
were  two  carven  hearts,  a  red  dagger  through  one  and 
a  red  flame  issuing  from  the  other.  A  black  cross  was 
fixed  above  these  symbols,  which  Vanquished  Often  and 
Exploding  Eggs  regarded  with  respect.  To  the  Mar- 
quesan  these  are  all  tiki,  or  charms,  which  have  super- 
seded their  own. 

Beside  the  decaying  church  stood  a  refectory  far  gone 
in  ruin,  that  once  had  housed  a  dozen  friars.  Bread- 
fruit-, mango-  and  orange-trees  grew  in  the  tangled  tall 
grass,  and  the  garden  where  the  priests  had  read  their 
breviaries  was  a  wilderness  of  tiger-lilies.  Among  them 
we  found  empty  bottles  of  a  "Medical  Discovery,"  a 
patent  medicine  dispensed  from  Boston,  favored  in 
these  islands  where  liquor  is  tabooed  by  government. 

Seventh  Man,  coming  up  the  trail  to  meet  us,  found 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  87 

us  looking  at  them.     He  lifted  one  and  sniffed  it  re- 
gretfully. 

"Prenty  strong,"  he  said.  "Make  drunkee.  Call  him 
Kennedee.  He  cost  much.  Drinkee  two  piece  you 
sick  three  day."  He  smiled  reminiscently,  and  once 
more  I  thought  of  that  day  when  the  unfortunate  gen- 
darme had  surprised  the  orgiasts  in  the  forest  and  lost 
his  nose.  The  chief  accompanied  us  down  the  trail. 

"My  brother  of  grandfather  have  first  gun  in  Mar- 
quesas," he  said  with  meaning  when  I  spoke  of  the  days 
of  Halley.  "One  chief  lotete  have  prenty  trouble 
Menike  whaleman.  He  send  for  French  admiral  help 
him.  Captiane  Halley  come  with  sailor.  Frenchman 
he  never  go  'way."  Again  his  teeth  gleamed  in  a  smile. 
"My  brother  of  grandfather  have  gun  long  time  in 
hills,"  he  added  cryptically. 

Too  soon  the  time  came  when  I  must  return  to  my 
own  paepae  in  Atuona.  Vanquished  Often  wept  at 
my  decision,  and  Mrs.  Seventh  Man  rubbed  my  nose 
long  with  hers  as  she  entreated  me  to  remain  in  the  home 
she  had  given  over  to  me.  The  chief,  finding  remon- 
strance useless,  volunteered  to  accompany  me  on  my 
return,  and  one  midnight  woke  me  to  be  ready  when 
the  wind  was  right. 

We  went  down  the  trail  through  wind  and  darkness, 
the  chief  blowing  a  conch-shell  for  the  crew.  In  the 
straw  shanty  where  my  hosts  had  spread  their  mats 
that  I  might  have  the  full  occupancy  of  their  comfort- 
able home,  we  found  Mrs.  Seventh  Man  making  tea 
for  me.  Vanquished  Often  sat  apart  in  the  shadow, 
her  face  averted,  but  when  my  cocoanut-shell  was  filled 


88  WHITE  SHADOWS 

with  the  streaming  brew  she  sprang  forward  passion- 
ately and  would  let  no  hand  but  hers  present  it  to  me. 

All  day  it  had  been  raining,  and  the  downpour  rushed 
from  the  eaves  with  a  melancholy  sound  as  we  sat  in  the 
lantern-lighted  dimness  drinking  from  the  shells.  The 
crew  came  in  one  by  one,  their  naked  bodies  running 
water,  their  eyes  eager  for  a  draught  of  the  tea,  into 
which  I  put  a  little  rum,  the  last  of  the  two  litres. 
Squall  followed  squall,  shaking  the  hut.  At  half-past 
two,  in  a  little  lull  which  Neo  guessed  might  last,  we 
went  out  to  the  rain-soaked  beach,  launched  the  canoe, 
and  paddled  away. 

My  last  sight  of  Vait-hua  was  the  dim  line  of  surf 
on  the  sand,  and  beyond  it  the  slender  figure  of  Van- 
quished Often  holding  aloft  a  lantern  whose  rays  faintly 
illumined  against  the  darkness  her  windblown  white 
tunic  and  blurred  face. 

The  storm  had  lured  us  by  a  brief  cessation.  We 
had  hardly  left  the  beach  before  the  heavens  opened 
and  deluged  us  with  rain.  Water  sluiced  our  bare 
backs  and  ran  in  streams  down  the  brawny  arms  bend- 
ing to  the  oars.  We  paddled  an  hour  before  the  wind 
was  favorable,  and  a  dreary  hour  it  was.  The  canoe 
had  an  out-rigger,  but  was  so  narrow  that  none  could 
sit  except  on  the  sharp  side.  I  fell  asleep  even  upon 
it,  and  woke  in  the  sea,  with  the  chief,  who  had  flung 
himself  to  my  rescue,  clutching  my  hair. 

Morning  found  our  canoe  close  to  the  rocky  coast  of 
Hiva-oa.  As  is  their  custom,  instead  of  making  a  bee- 
line  for  our  destination  or  sailing  to  it  close-hauled  as 
the  winds  permitted,  the  Marquesans  had  steered  for 
the  nearest  shore,  following  along  it  to  port.  This 


Catholic  Church  at  Atuona 

Described  by  Stevenson  in  The  South  Seas 


r 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  89 

method  is  attended  with  danger,  for  off  the  threaten- 
ing cliffs  a  heavy  sea  was  running,  great  waves  dashing 
on  the  rocks,  and  we  were  perforce  in  the  trough  as 
we  skirted  the  land. 

We  quit  the  sail  for  oars,  and  it  took  every  ounce 
of  strength  and  skill  on  the  part  of  the  rowers  and 
Seventh  Man  to  avoid  shipwreck.  Each  breaker  as 
it  passed  tossed  the  frail  craft  skyward,  and  we  fell 
into  the  abysses  as  a  rock  into  a  bottomless  pit.  Every 
instant  it  seemed  that  we  must  capsize.  While  we 
fought  thus,  in  a  frenzied  effort  to  keep  off  the  rocks, 
the  sun  rose,  and  every  curl  of  water  turned  to  clearest 
emerald,  while  the  hollows  of  the  leaping  waves  were 
purple  as  dark  amethysts. 

Suddenly,  as  we  slid  breathlessly  downward,  a  great 
wall  of  water  rose  beside  us,  higher  and  higher  until 
it  seemed  to  touch  the  sky,  clear  and  solid-looking  as 
a  sheet  of  green  glass,  a  sight  so  stupendous  that  amaze- 
ment took  the  place  of  fear.  For  an  instant  it  remained 
poised  above  us,  then  crashed  down  with  the  shock  of 
an  earthquake. 

Stunned,  I  emerged  from  a  smother  of  water  to 
find  our  canoe  completely  under  the  waves,  kept  afloat 
solely  by  grace  of  the  outrigger.  All  hands  were  over- 
side, clinging  to  the  edge  of  the  submerged  craft,  while 
Exploding  Eggs  and  I  bailed  for  our  lives.  Strong 
swimmers,  they  held  us  off-shore  until  we  had  so  lowered 
the  water  that  they  could  resume  the  oars. 

For  two  hours  we  tossed  about,  while  the  chief  held 
the  steering-oar  and  his  men  paddled  through  a  welter 
of  jeweled  color  that  threatened  momentarily  to  toss 
us  on  the  rocks.  If  we  smashed  on  them  we  were  dead 


90  WHITE  SHADOWS 

men,  for  even  had  we  been  able  to  climb  them  the  high 
tide  would  have  drowned  us  against  the  wall  of  the 
cliffs.  No  man  showed  the  slightest  fear,  though  they 
pulled  like  giants  and  obeyed  instantly  each  order  of 
the  chief. 

Battling  in  this  fashion,  we  rounded  at  last  Point 
Teaehoa  and  won  the  protection  of  the  Bay  of  Traitors. 
I,  at  least,  felt  immeasurable  relief,  that  quickly  turned 
to  exhilaration  as  we  hoisted  sail  and  drove  at  a  glorious 
speed  straight  through  the  breakers  to  the  welcoming 
beach  of  Atuona. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Marquesans  at  ten  o'clock  mass;  a  remarkable  conversation  about  reli- 
gions and  Joan  of  Arc  in  which  Great  Fern  gives  his  idea  of  the  devil. 

I  WAS  surprised  to  note  that  the  few  natives  within 
view  when  we  landed  were  dressed  in  the  stiff  and 
awkward  clothes  of  the  European ;  some  fete  must 
have  been  arranged  during  my  absence,  I  thought. 
Then  with  a  shock  I  realized  that  the  day  was  Sunday. 
In  the  lovely,  timeless  valley  of  Vait-hua  the  calendar 
had  dropped  below  the  horizon  of  memory  as  my  native 
land  had  dropped  below  the  rim  of  the  sea.  Here  in 
Atuona,  whose  life  was  colored  by  the  presence  of 
whites,  the  days  must  take  up  their  constricted  regular 
march  again. 

Already  through  the  crystal  air  of  a  morning  after 
rain  the  mission  bells  were  ringing  clear,  and  Chief 
Neo,  forgetting  the  night  of  toil  and  danger  past,  was 
eager  to  accompany  me  to  church.  It  would  be  an 
honor  befitting  his  chiefly  rank  to  sit  with  the  distin- 
guished white  man  in  the  house  of  worship,  and  I,  re- 
membering his  perfect  hospitality,  was  glad  to  do  him 
honor  in  my  own  valley. 

We  hastened  to  my  cabin,  Exploding  Eggs  running 
before  us  up  the  trail  with  my  luggage  balanced  on 
his  shoulders.  Cocoanuts  and  popoi,  coffee  and  tinned 
biscuits,  were  waiting  when  we  arrived.  We  ate  hastily 
and  then  donned  proper  garments,  Exploding  Eggs 

91 


92  WHITE  SHADOWS 

rejoicing  in  a  stiff  collar  and  a  worn  sailor-hat  once 
mine.  They  sat  oddly  upon  him,  being  several  sizes 
too  large,  but  he  bore  himself  with  pride  as  we  set  out 
toward  the  church. 

In  the  avenue  of  bananas  leading  to  the  mission  I 
lingered  to  observe  the  beauty  of  the  flakes  upon  the 
ground.  They  are  the  outside  layers  of  the  pendulum 
of  that  graceful  plant,  the  purple  flower-cone  that  hangs 
at  the  end  of  the  fruit  cluster  with  its  volute  and  royal- 
hued  stem.  The  banana-plants,  which  we  call  trees, 
lined  the  road  and  stood  twenty  feet  high,  their  long 
slender  leaves  blowing  in  the  light  wind  like  banners 
from  a  castle  wall. 

The  flakes  that  had  dropped  upon  the  ground  were 
lovely.  Large  as  a  lady's  veil,  ribbed  satin,  rose  and 
purple,  pink  and  scarlet,  the  filmy  edges  curled  deli- 
cately, they  hinted  the  elegance  and  luxury  of  a  pretty 
woman's  boudoir.  And,  like  all  such  dainty  trifles,  the 
charming  flower  that  hangs  like  a  colored  lamp  in  the 
green  chapel  of  the  banana-grove  it  is  useless  after  it 
has  served  its  brief  purpose.  The  fruit  grows  better 
when  it  is  cut  off. 

Opposite  the  spacious  mission  grounds  the  wor- 
shippers were  gathering  beneath  two  gnarled  banian- 
trees,  giant-like  in  height  and  spread.  Behind  them 
a  long  hedge  of  bananas  bordered  the  cocoanut  planta- 
tion of  the  church,  and  across  the  narrow  road  rose  the 
chapel,  the  priests'  residence  and  the  nuns'  house,  with 
several  school  buildings  now  empty  because  of  the 
French  anti-clerical  law. 

Exploding  Eggs  in  his  new  finery  and  the  visiting 
chief  from  Vait-hua  found  welcome  among  the  waiting 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  93 

natives,  while  Titihuti  of  the  tattooed  legs  took  her 
seat  beside  me.  She  had  combed  her  Titian  tresses  and 
anointed  them  with  oil  till  they  shone  like  the  kelp  beds 
of  Monterey.  Her  tunic  was  of  scarlet  calico,  and  she 
carried  in  her  hand  a  straw  hat  with  a  red  ribbon,  to  put 
on  when  she  entered  the  church.  "Kaoka!"  I  said  to 
her,  and  she  smiled,  displaying  her  even,  white  teeth. 

Suddenly,  looking  past  her  at  the  church,  my  eye 
caught  a  sight  that  transfixed  me.  In  the  misty  light 
I  saw  the  Christ  upon  the  cross  as  on  Calvary.  The 
sublime  figure  was  in  the  agony  of  expiration,  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross  stood  the  ever  faithful  mother  and 
the  loving  John  in  attitudes  of  amazement  and  grief. 
The  reality  was  startling;  for  the  moment  I  forgot  all 
about  me. 

But  Titihuti  coughed,  and  I  saw  her  tattooed  legs 
and  felt  the  rough  roots  of  the  banian  under  me,  and  I 
was  back  in  the  courtyard.  The  spectacle  of  the 
Crucifixion  was  raised  on  a  basalt  platform  fully  twenty 
feet  long.  The  figures  were  of  golden  bronze,  and  the 
cross  was  painted  white.  Over  it  hung  the  branches 
of  a  lofty  breadfruit-tree,  a  congruous  canopy  for  such 
a  group.  The  Bread  of  Life,  in  truth. 

A  tablet  on  the  cross  bore  the  inscription: 

"1900 
Le  Christ  Dieu  Homme 

Vit 

Regne 

Commande 

Christo  Redemptori 

Jubile  1901 
Atuona." 


94  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"The  tiki  of  the  true  god,"  said  Titihuti,  observing 
my  gaze,  and  crossed  herself  with  the  fervor  of  the  be- 
liever in  a  new  charm. 

On  the  roof  a  score  of  doves  were  cooing  as  we  filed 
into  the  church.  There  were  bas-reliefs  of  cherubim 
and  seraphim  over  the  doorway,  fat,  distorted  bodies 
with  wings  a-wry,  yet  with  a  celestial  vision  showing 
through  the  crude  workmanship.  A  loop-holed  but- 
tress on  either  side  of  the  facade  spoke  of  the  days 
when  the  forethought  of  the  builders  planned  for  de- 
fence in  case  a  reaction  of  paganism  caused  the  congre- 
gation to  attack  the  Christian  fathers. 

Inside  the  doorway  a  French  nun  in  blue  robes  tugged 
at  a  rope  depending  from  the  belfry,  and  above  us  the 
bells  rang  out  from  two  tiny  towers.  She  looked  curi- 
ously at  me  and  my  savage  companion,  her  pale  peas- 
ant's face  hard,  homely,  unhealthy;  then  she  kicked  at 
a  big  dog  who  was  trying  to  drink  the  holy  water  from 
the  clam-shell  beside  the  door.  "Allez,  Satan !"  she  said. 

The  benetier,  large  enough  to  immerse  an  infant, 
was  fixed  to  a  board,  a  fascinating,  blackened  old 
bracket,  carved  with  the  instruments  of  torture,  the 
nails,  the  spear,  the  scourge,  and  thorns.  Ivory  and 
pearl,  stained  by  a  century  or  more,  were  inlaid.  As 
I  dipped  my  hand  in  the  shell  a  huge  lizard  that  made 
his  nest  in  the  hollow  of  the  bracket  ran  across  my 
knuckles. 

Within,  there  were  seats  with  kneeling-planks,  hewed 
out  of  hard  wood  and  still  bearing  the  marks  of  the 
adze.  Upon  them  the  congregation  soon  assembled,  the 
women  on  one  side,  the  men  on  the  other.  The  women 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  95 

wore  hats,  native  weaves  in  semi -sailor  style,  decorated 
with  Chinese  silk  shawls  or  bright-colored  handkerchiefs. 
All  were  barefooted  except  the  pale  and  sickly  daugh- 
ters of  Baufre,  who  wore  clumsy  and  painful  shoes. 
Many  Daughters,  the  little,  lovely  leper,  came  with 
Flower,  of  the  red-gold  hah*,  the  Weaver  of  Mats,  who 
had  her  names  tattooed  on  her  arm.  They  dipped  in 
the  font  and  genuflected,  then  bowed  in  prayer. 

Many  familiar  faces  I  recognized.  Ah  Yu,  the 
Chinaman  who  owned  the  little  store  beyond  the  banian- 
tree  and  had  murder  upon  his  soul;  Lam  Kai  Oo,  my 
erstwhile  landlord;  Flag,  the  gendarme;  Water,  in  all 
the  glory  of  European  trousers;  Kake,  with  my  small 
namesake  on  her  arm.  The  old  women  were  tattooed 
on  the  ears  and  neck  in  scrolls,  and  their  lips  were 
marked  in  faint  stripes.  The  old  men,  their  eyes  ringed 
with  tattooing,  wore  earrings  and  necklaces  of  whale's 
teeth. 

The  church  was  painted  white  inside,  with  frescoes 
and  dados  of  gaudy  hues,  and  windows  of  brilliantly 
colored  glass.  The  altar,  as  also  the  statues  of  Joseph 
and  Mary,  had  a  reredos  handsomely  carved.  Outside 
the  railing  was  a  charming  Child  in  the  Manger,  lying 
on  real  straw,  surrounded  by  the  Virgin,  Joseph,  the 
Magi,  the  shepherds,  and  the  kings,  all  in  bright-hued 
robes,  and  pleasant-looking  cows  and  asses  with  red 
eyes  and  green  tails. 

The  singing  began  before  the  priest  came  from  the 
sacristy.  The  men  sang  alone  and  the  women  followed, 
in  an  alternating  chant  that  at  times  rose  into  a  wail 
and  again  had  the  nasal  sound  of  a  bag-pipe.  The 


96  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Catholic  chants  sung  thus  in  Marquesan  took  on  a  wild, 
barbaric  rhythm  that  thrilled  the  blood  and  made  the 
hair  tingle  on  the  scalp. 

Bishop  David  le  Cadre  appeared  in  elegant  vest- 
ments, his  eyes  grave  above  a  foot-long  beard,  and  the 
mass  began.  The  acolyte  was  very  agile  in  a  short  red 
cassock,  below  which  his  naked  legs,  and  bare  feet 
showed.  The  people  responded  often  through  the  mass, 
rising,  sitting  down,  and  kneeling  obediently.  Baufre 
sat  on  a  chair  in  the  vestibule  and  added  accounts. 

Ah  Kee  Au  was  the  sole  communicant  at  the  rail. 
No  cloth  was  spread,  but  the  bell  announced  the  mys- 
tery of  transubstantiation,  and  all  bowed  their  heads 
while  Ah  Kee  Au  reverently  offered  his  communion  to 
the  welfare  of  Napoleon,  his  grandson  who  had  acci- 
dentally shot  himself. 

The  service  over,  the  people  poured  from  the  church 
into  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  the  road,  and  Ah  Kee  Au 
said  to  me,  "You  savee  thlat  communio'  blead  b'long 
my  place.  My  son  makee  for  pliest."  Lam  Kai  Oo, 
pressing  forward,  offered  the  communicant  a  draught  of 
fiery  rum  he  had  obtained  by  the  governor's  permis- 
sion. He  had  been  told  that  to  give  a  glass  of  water 
to  a  communicant,  who  must  of  course  have  fasted  and 
abstained  from  any  liquid  since  midnight  according  to 
the  law  of  the  Church,  was  a  holy  act  which  brought 
the  giver  a  blessing,  and  so  the  subtle  Chinese  thought 
to  make  his  blessing  greater  by  offering  a  drink  better 
than  water. 

Ah  Kee  Au  drank  with  fervor.  "My  makee  holee 
thliss  morn',"  he  said  gladly.  "Makee  Napoleon  more 
happy."  Sincerity  is  not  a  matter  of  broken  English 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  97 

or  a  drink  of  rum;  the  poor  old  grandfather  of  the 
Little  Corporal's  namesake  believed  earnestly  that  Na- 
poleon would  improve  by  his  sacramental  offering.  He, 
like  most  Marquesans,  took  the  white  man's  religion 
with  little  understanding.  It  is  new  magic  to  them, 
a  comfort,  an  occupation,  and  an  entertainment.  But 
who  knows  the  human  heart,  or  understands  the  soul? 

That  afternoon  while  Neo  and  I  lay  on  my  paepae 
awaiting  the  favoring  wind  which  should  carry  him  back 
to  his  own  isle,  my  neighbors  gathered  from  far  and 
near  to  lounge  the  sunny  hours  away  in  conversation. 
Squatted  on  the  mats,  they  engaged  in  serious  discus- 
sion of  the  puzzles  of  religion,  appealing  to  me  often 
to  settle  vexing  questions  which  they  had  long  wearied 
of  asking  their  better-informed  instructors  in  religious 
mysteries. 

Their  native  tongue  has  no  word  for  religion.  Bishop 
Dordillon  had  been  obliged  to  translate  it,  "Te  mea  e 
hakatika  me  te  mea  e  Jiana  mea  koaha  toitoi  i  te  Etna," 
which  might  be  rendered,  "Belief  in  the  works  and  love 
of  a  just  God."  Etua,  often  spelled  Atua,  was  the 
name  of  divinity  among  all  Maori  peoples,  but  religion 
was  so  associated  with  natural  things,  the  phenomena 
of  nature,  of  living  things,  and  of  the  heavens  and  sea, 
that  it  was  part  of  daily  life  and  needed  no  word  to 
distinguish  it. 

Never  were  people  less  able  to  comprehend  the  creeds 
and  formulas  in  which  the  religious  beliefs  of  the  white 
men  are  clothed.  Marquesans  are  not  deep  thinkers. 
In  fact,  they  have  a  word,  tahoa,  which  means,  "a  head- 
ache from  thinking."  Ten  years  of  ardent  and  nobly 
self-sacrificing  work  by  missionaries  left  the  islands  still 


98  WHITE  SHADOWS 

without  a  single  soul  converted.  It  was  not  until  the 
chiefs  began  to  set  the  seal  of  their  approval  on  the 
new  outlandish  faiths  that  the  people  flocked  to  the 
standard  of  the  cross.  And  when  they  did  begin  to 
meditate  the  doctrines  preached  to  them  as  necessary 
beliefs  in  order  to  win  salvation,  their  heads  ached  in- 
deed. 

Even  after  years  of  faithful  church-going  many  of 
my  friends  still  struggled  with  their  doubts,  and  when 
these  were  propounded  to  me  I  was  fain  to  wrinkle 
my  own  brow  and  ponder  deeply. 

The  burning  question  as  to  the  color  of  Adam  and 
Eve  had  long  been  settled.  Adam  and  Eve  were  brown, 
like  themselves.  But  if,  as  the  priests  said  was  most 
probable,  Adam  and  Eve  had  received  pardon  and  were 
in  heaven,  why  had  their  guilt  stained  all  mankind? 

Also,  would  Satan  have  been  able  to  tempt  Eve  if 
God  had  not  made  the  tree  of  knowledge  tapu?  Was 
not  knowledge  a  good  thing?  What  motive  had  led 
the  Maker  and  Knower  of  all  things  to  do  this  deed? 

What  made  the  angels  fall?  Pride,  said  the  priests. 
Then  how  did  it  get  into  heaven?  demanded  the  per- 
plexed. 

The  resurrection  of  the  body  at  the  last  judgment 
horrified  them.  This  fact,  said  the  husband  of  Kake, 
had  led  to  the  abandonment  of  the  old  manner  of  bury- 
ing corpses  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  the  face  between 
the  knees  and  the  hands  under  the  thighs,  the  whole 
bound  round  with  cords.  Obviously,  a  man  buried  in 
such  a  position  would  rise  deformed.  Their  dead  in 
the  cemetery  on  the  heights  slept  now  in  long  coffins 
of  wood,  their  limbs  at  ease.  But  other  and  less  pre- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  99 

meditated  interments  still  befell  the  unwary  islander. 

What  would  God  do  in  cases  where  sharks  had  eaten 
a  Marquesan?  And  what,  when  the  same  shark  had 
been  killed  and  eaten  by  other  Marquesans?  And  in 
the  case  of  the  early  Christian  forefathers,  who  were 
eaten  by  men  of  other  tribes,  and  afterward  the  canni- 
bals eaten  in  retaliation,  and  then  the  last  feaster  eaten 
by  sharks?  Auel  There  was  a  headache  query! 

At  this  point  in  the  discussion  an  aged  stranger  from 
the  valley  of  Taaoa,  a  withered  man  whose  whole  naked 
chest  was  covered  with  intricate  tattooing,  laid  down  his 
pipe  and  artlessly  revealed  his  idea  of  the  communion 
service.  It  was,  he  thought,  a  religious  cannibalism, 
no  more.  And  he  was  puzzled  that  his  people  should 
be  told  that  it  was  wrong  to  feed  on  the  flesh  of  a 
fellow  human  creature  when  they  were  urged  to  "eat 
the  body  and  drink  the  blood"  of  letu  Kirito  himself. 

It  was  long  afterward,  in  that  far-away  America  so 
incomprehensible  to  my  simple  savage  friends,  that  I 
read  beneath  the  light  of  an  electric  lamp  a  paragraph 
in  "Folkways,"  by  William  Graham  Summer,  of  Yale: 

"Language  used  in  communion  about  eating  the  body  and 
drinking  the  blood  of  Christ  refers  to  nothing  in  our  mores  and 
appeals  to  nothing  in  our  experience.  It  comes  down  from 
very  remote  ages;  very  probably  from  cannibalism." 

The  printed  page  vanished,  and  before  my  eyes  rose 
a  vision  of  my  paepae  among  the  breadfruit-  and  cocoa- 
nut-trees,  the  ring  of  squatting  dusky  figures  in  flicker- 
ing sunlit  leaf-shade,  Kake  in  her  red  tunic  with  the 
babe  at  her  breast,  Exploding  Eggs  standing  by  with 
a  half -eaten  cocoanut,  and  the  many  dark  eyes  in  their 


100  WHITE  SHADOWS 

circles  of  ink  fixed  upon  the  shriveled  face  of  the  re- 
formed cannibal  whose  head  ached  with  the  mysteries 
of  the  white  man's  religion. 

None  too  soon  for  me,  the  talk  turned  about  history, 
the  tales  of  which  were  confused  in  my  guests'  minds 
with  those  of  the  saints.  Great  Fern  insisted  that  if 
the  English  roasted  Joan  of  Arc  they  ate  her,  because 
no  man  would  apply  live  coals,  which  pain  exceedingly, 
to  any  living  person,  and  fire  was  never  placed  upon  a 
human  body  save  to  cook  it  for  consumption.  This 
theory  seemed  reasonable  to  most  of  the  listeners,  for 
since  such  cruelty  as  the  Marquesans  practiced  in  their 
native  state  was  thoughtless  and  never  intentional,  the 
idea  of  torture  was  incomprehensible  to  their  simple 
minds. 

Malicious  Gossip,  a  comely  savage  of  twenty-five  with 
false-coffee  leaves  in  her  hair,  declared,  however,  that 
the  governor  had  told  her  the  English  roasted  Joan 
alive  because  she  was  a  heretic.  The  statement  was 
received  with  startled  protests  by  those  present  who 
had  themselves  incurred  that  charge  when  they  deserted 
Catholicism  for  Protestantism  some  time  earlier. 

"Exploding  Eggs,"  said  I  hastily,  "make  tea  for 
all."  Every  shade  vanished  from  shining  eyes  whe*n  I 
produced  the  bottle  of  rum  and  added  a  spoonful  of 
flavor  to  each  brimming  shellful.  All  perplexing  ques- 
tions were  forgotten,  and  simple  social  pleasure  reigned 
again  on  my  paepae,  while  Great  Fern  explained  to 
all  his  idea  of  the  Christian  devil. 

The  Marquesan  deity  of  darkness  was  Po,  a  vague 
and  elemental  spirit.  But  the  kukane  anera  maaa  of 
the  new  religion  had  definite  and  fearful  attributes  ex- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  101 

plained  by  the  priests.  So  Great  Fern  conceived  him 
as  a  kind  of  cross  between  a  man  and  a  boar,  with  a 
tail  like  that  of  a  shark,  running  through  the  forests 
with  a  bunch  of  lighted  candlenuts  and  setting  fire  to 
the  houses  of  the  wicked. 

And  the  wicked?  Morals  as  we  know  them  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  their  sin  in  his  mind.  The  wicked  were 
the  unkind,  those  who  were  cruel  to  children,  wives  who 
made  bad  popoi,  and  whites  with  rum  privileges  who 
forgot  hospitality. 

Non-Christians  may  grin  at  the  efforts  of  missionaries 
among  heathens.  But  the  missionaries  are  the  only  in- 
fluence for  good  in  the  islands,  the  only  white  men  seek- 
ing to  mitigate  the  misery  and  ruin  brought  by  the 
white  man's  system  of  trade.  The  extension  of  civ- 
ilized commerce  has  crushed  every  natural  impulse  of 
brotherliness,  kindness,  and  generosity,  destroyed  every 
good  and  clean  custom  of  these  children  of  nature. 
Traders  and  sailors,  whalers  and  soldiers,  have  been 
their  enemies. 

Whatever  the  errors  of  the  men  of  God,  they  have 
given  their  lives  day  by  day  in  unremitting,  self-sac- 
rificing toil,  suffering  much  to  share  with  these  despoiled 
people  the  light  of  their  own  faith  in  a  better  world 
hereafter.  In  so  far  as  they  have  failed,  they  have 
failed  because  they  have  lacked  what  proselytizing  re- 
ligion has  always  lacked — a  joy  in  life  that  seeks  to 
make  this  mundane  existence  more  endurable,  a  grace 
of  humor,  and  a  broad  simplicity. 

Polynesians  have  always  been  respecters  of  authority. 
Under  their  own  rule,  where  priest  and  king  equally 
rose  to  rank  because  of  admired  deeds,  the  tapus  of 


102  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  priests  had  the  same  force  as  those  of  chiefs,  and 
life  was  conducted  by  few  and  simple  rules.  Now, 
when  sect  fights  sect;  when  priests  assure  the  people 
that  France  is  a  Catholic  nation  and  the  Governor  says 
the  statement  is  false;  where  the  Protestant  pastor 
teaches  that  Sunday  is  a  day  of  solemnity  and  prayer, 
and  the  Frenchmen  make  it  a  day  of  merriment  as  in 
France;  where  salvation  depends  on  many  beliefs  be- 
wildering and  incompatible,  the  puzzled  Marquesan 
scratches  his  head  and  swings  from  creed  to  creed,  while 
his  secret  heart  clings  to  the  old  gods. 

The  Marquesan  had  a  joyful  religion,  full  of  humor 
and  abandon,  dances  and  chants,  and  exaltation  of  na- 
ture, of  the  greatness  of  their  tribe  or  race,  a  worship 
that  was,  despite  its  ghastly  rites  of  human  sacrifice,  a 
"stimulus  to  life. 

The  efforts  of  missionaries  have  killed  the  joy  of 
living  as  they  have  crushed  out  the  old  barbarities,  up- 
rooting together  everything,  good  and  bad,  that  religion 
meant  to  the  native.  They  have  given  him  instead  rites 
that  mystify  him,  dogmas  he  can  only  dimly  understand, 
and  a  little  comfort  in  the  miseries  brought  upon  him 
by  trade. 

I  have  seen  a  leper  alone  on  his  paepae,  deep  in  the 
Scriptures,  and  when  I  asked  him  if  he  got  comfort  from 
them  I  was  answered,  "They  are  strong  words  for  a 
weak  man,  and  better  than  pig."  But  only  a  St  Fran- 
cis Xavier  or  a  Livingstone,  a  great  moral  force,  could 
lift  the  people  now  from  the  slough  of  despond  in  which 
they  expire. 

Upon  this  people,  sparkingly  alive,  spirited  as  wild 
horses,  not  depressed  as  were  their  conquerors  by  a 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  103 

heritage  of  thousands  of  years  of  metes  and  bounds, 
religion  as  forced  upon  them  has  been  not  only  a  nar- 
cotic, but  a  death  potion. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  marriage   of   Malicious   Gossip;    matrimonial   customs   of  the   simple 
natives;  the  domestic  difficulties  of  Haabuani. 

MOUTH  of  God  and  his  wife,  Malicious  Gos- 
sip, soon  became  intimates  of  my  paepae. 
Coming  first  to  see  the  marvelous  Golden  Bed 
and  to  listen  to  the  click-click  of  the  Iron  Fingers  That 
Make  Words,  they  remained  to  talk,  and  I  found  them 
both  charming. 

Both  were  in  their  early  twenties,  ingenuous,  gener- 
ous, clever,  and  devoted  to  each  other  and  to  their 
friends.  Malicious  Gossip  was  beautiful,  with  soft  dark 
eyes,  clear-cut  features,  and  a  grace  and  lovely  line  of 
figure  that  in  New  York  would  make  all  heads  whirl. 
She  was  .all  Marquesan,  but  her  husband,  Mouth  of 
God,  had  white  blood  in  him.  Whose  it  was,  he  did 
not  know,  for  his  mother's  consort  had  been  an  islander. 
His  mother,  a  large,  stern,  and  Calvinistic  cannibal, 
believed  in  predestination,  and  spent  her  days  in  fear 
that  she  would  be  among  the  lost.  Her  Bible  was 
ever  near,  and  often,  passing  their  house,  I  saw  her 
climb  with  it  into  a  breadfruit-tree  and  read  a  chapter 
in  the  high  branches  where  she  could  avoid  distraction. 

They  lived  in  a  spacious  house  set  in  three  acres  of 
breadfruit  and  cocoanuts,  an  ancient  grove  long  in  their 
family.  Often  I  squatted  on  their  mats,  dipping  a 
gingerly  finger  in  their  popoi  bowl  and  drinking  the 
sweet  wine  of  the  half -ripe  cocoanut,  the  while  Mouth 

104 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  105 

of  God's  mother  spoke  long  and  earnestly  on  the  abode 
of  the  damned  and  the  necessity  -for  seeking  salvation. 
In  return,  Malicious  Gossip  spent  hours  on  my  paepae 
telling  me  of  the  customs  of  her  people  new  and  old. 

"When  I  was  thirteen,"  she  said,  "the  whalers  still 
came  to  Vait-hua,  my  valley.  There  came  a  young 
Menike  man,  straight  and  bright-eyed,  a  passenger  on 
a  whaling-ship  seeking  adventure.  I  sighed  the  first 
time  in  my  life  when  I  looked  on  him.  He  was  hand- 
some, and  not  like  other  men  on  your  ships. 

"The  kiss  you  white  men  give  he  taught  me  to  like. 
He  was  generous  and  gentle  and  good.  Months  we 
dwelt  together  in  a  house  by  the  stream  in  the  valley. 
When  he  sailed  away  at  last,  as  all  white  men  do  who 
are  worth  wanting  to  stay,  he  tore  out  my  heart.  My 
milk  turned  to  poison  and  killed  our  little  child. 

"I  met  long  after  with  Mouth  of  God.  He  took 
me  to  his  house  in  the  breadfruit-grove.  He  was  good 
and  gentle,  but  I  was  long  in  learning  to  love  him.  It 
was  the  governor  who  made  me  know  that  I  was  his 
woman.  It  came  about  in  this  manner: 

"That  governor  was  one  whom  all  hated  for  his  cold- 
ness and  cruelty.  Mouth  of  God  worked  for  him  in  the 
house  where  medicines  are  made,  having  learned  to 
mix  the  medicines  in  a  bowl  and  to  wrap  cloths  about 
the  wounds  of  those  who  were  sick.  One  day,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  white  men  who  rule,  the  governor 
said  to  Mouth  of  God  that  he  must  send  me  to  the  palace 
that  night. 

"When  he  came  home  to  the  house  where  we  lived 
together,  Mouth  of  God  gave  me  his  word.  He  said: 
'Go  to  the  river  and  bathe.  Put  on  your  crimson  tunic 


106  WHITE  SHADOWS 

and  flowers  in  your  hair  and  go  to  the  palace.  The 
governor  gives  a  feast  to-night,  and  you  are  to  dance  and 
to  sleep  in  the  governor's  bed.'  " 

Malicious  Gossip  shuddered,  and  rocked  herself  to 
and  fro  upon  the  mats.  "Then  I  would  have  killed 
him!  I  cried  out  to  him  and  said :  'I  will  not  go  to  the 
governor!  He  is  a  devil.  My  heart  hates  him.  I  am 
a  Marquesan.  What  have  I  to  do  with  a  man  I  hate?' 

"  'Go!'  said  Mouth  of  God,  and  his  eyes  were  hard 
as  the  black  stones  of  the  High  Place.  'The  governor 
asks  for  you.  He  is  the  government.  Since  when  have 
Marquesan  women  said  no  to  the  command  of  the 
administrateur?' 

"I  wept,  but  I  took  my  brightest  kahu  ropa  from 
the  sandalwood  chest  my  Menike  man  had  given  me, 
and  I  went  down  the  path  to  the  stream.  As  I  went 
I  wept,  but  my  heart  was  black,  and  I  thought  to  take 
a  keen-edged  knife  beneath  my  tunic  when  I  went  to 
the  palace.  But  my  feet  were  not  yet  wet  in  the  edge 
of  the  water  when  Mouth  of  God  called  to  me. 

"  'Do  not  go,'  he  said. 

"I  answered:  'I  will  go.  You  told  me  to  go.  I 
am  on  my  way.'  My  tears  were  salt  in  my  mouth. 

"  'No!'  said  Mouth  of  God.  He  ran,  and  he  came 
to  me  in  the  pool  where  I  had  flung  myself.  There 
in  the  water  he  held  me,  and  his  arms  crushed  the  breath 
from  my  ribs.  'You  will  not  go!'  he  said.  'I  spoke 
those  words  to  know  if  you  would  go  to  the  governor. 
If  you  had  gone  quickly,  if  you  had  not  wept,  I  would 
kill  you.  You  are  my  woman.  No  other  shall  have 
you,' 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  107 

"Then  I  knew  that  I  was  his  woman,  and  I  forgot  my 
Menike  lover. 

"You  see,"  she  said  to  me  after  a  pause,  "I  would  have 
gone  to  the  palace.  But  I  would  never  have  come  back 
to  the  house  of  Mouth  of  God.  That  was  the  beginning 
of  our  love.  He  would  yield  me  to  nobody.  He  told 
the  governor  that  I  would  not  come,  and  he  waited  to 
kill  the  governor  if  he  must.  But  the  governor  laughed, 
and  said  there  were  many  others.  Mouth  of  God  and  I 
were  married  then  by  Monsieur  Vernier,  in  the  church  of 
his  mother. 

"That  was  the  manner  of  my  marriage.  The  same 
as  that  of  the  girls  in  your  own  island,  is  it  not?" 

It  was  much  the  same,  I  said.  It  differed  only  in 
some  slight  matters  of  custom.  She  listened  fascinated 
while  I  described  to  her  our  complicated  conventions  of 
courtship,  our  calling  upon  young  ladies  for  months  and 
even  years,  our  gifts,  our  entertainments,  our  giving  of 
rings,  our  setting  of  the  marriage  months  far  in  the  fu- 
ture, our  orange  wreaths  and  veils  and  bridesmaids. 
She  found  these  things  almost  incredible. 

"Marriage  here,"  she  said,  "may  come  to  a  young  man 
when  he  does  not  seek  or  even  expect  it.  No  Marquesan 
can  marry  without  the  consent  of  his  mother,  and  often 
she  marries  him  to  a  girl  without  his  even  thinking  of 
such  a  thing. 

"A  young  man  may  bring  home  a  girl  he  does  not 
know,  perhaps  a  girl  he  has  seen  on  the  beach  in  the 
moonlight,  to  stay  with  him  that  night  in  his  mother's 
house.  It  may  be  that  her  beauty  and  charm  will  so 
please  his  mother  that  she  will  call  a  family  council  after 


108  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  two  have  gone  to  bed.  If  the  family  thinks  as  the 
mother  does,  they  determine  to  marry  the  young  man  to 
that  girl,  and  they  do  so  after  this  fashion : 

"Early  in  the  morning,  just  at  dawn,  before  the  young 
couple  awake,  all  the  women  of  the  household  arouse 
them  with  shrieks.  They  beat  their  breasts,  cut  them- 
selves with  shells,  crying  loudly,  Auel  Auel  Neigh- 
bors rush  in  to  see  who  has  died.  The  youth  and  the 
girl  run  forth  in  terror.  Then  the  mother,  the  grand- 
mother and  all  other  women  of  the  house  chant  the 
praises  of  the  girl,  singing  her  beauty,  and  wailing  that 
they  cannot  let  her  go.  They  demand  with  anger 
that  the  son  shall  not  let  her  go.  All  the  neighbors 
cry  with  them,  Aue!  Auel  and  beat  their  'breasts, 
until  the  son,  covered  with  shame,  asks  the  girl  to 
stay. 

"Then  her  parents  are  sent  the  word,  and  if  they  do 
not  object,  the  girl  remains  in  his  house.  That  is  often 
the  manner  of  Marquesan  marriage." 

Yet  often,  of  course,  she  explained,  marriage  was  not 
the  outcome  of  a  night's  wooing.  The  young  Mar- 
quesan frequently  brought  home  a  girl  who  did  not  in- 
stantly win  his  mother's  affection.  In  that  case  she 
went  her  way  next  morning  after  breakfast,  and  that 
was  all.  Our  regard  for  chastity  was  incomprehensible 
to  Malicious  Gossip,  instructed  though  she  was  in  all  the 
codes  of  the  church.  It  was  to  her  a  creed  preached  to 
others  by  the  whites,  like  wearing  shoes  or  making  the 
Sabbath  a  day  of  gloom,  and  though  she  had  been  told 
that  violation  of  this  code  meant  roasting  forever  as  in  a 
cannibal  pit  whose  fires  were  never  extinguished,  her 
mind  could  perceive  no  reason  for  it.  She  could  at- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  109 

tach  no  blame  to  an  act  that  seemed  to  her  an  innocent, 
natural,  and  harmless  amusement. 

The  truth  is  that  no  value  was,  or  is,  attached  to 
maidenhood  in  all  Polynesia,  the  young  woman  being 
left  to  her  own  whims  without  blame  or  care.  Only 
deep  and  sincere  attachment  holds  her  at  last  to  the  man 
she  has  chosen,  and  she  then  follows  his  wishes  in  mat- 
ters of  fidelity,  though  still  to  a  large  extent  remaining 
mistress  of  herself. 

The  Marquesan  woman,  however,  often  denies  her 
husband  the  freedom  she  herself  openly  enjoys.  This 
custom  persists  as  a  striking  survival  of  polyandry,  in 
which  fidelity  under  pain  of  dismissal  from  the  roof- 
tree  was  imposed  by  the  wife  on  all  who  shared  her  af- 
fections. 

This  was  exactly  the  status  of  a  household  not  far 
from  my  cabin.  Haabuani,  master  of  ceremonies  at  the 
dances,  the  best  carver  and  drum-beater  of  all  Atuona, 
who  was  of  pure  Marquesan  blood,  but  spoke  French 
fluently  and  earnestly  defended  the  doctrine  of  the 
Pope's  infallibility, — even  coming  to  actual  blows  with 
a  defiant  Protestant  upon  my  very  paepae — explained 
his  attitude. 

"If  I  have  a  friend  and  he  temporarily  desires  my 
wife,  Toho,  I  am  glad  if  she  is  willing.  But  my  enemy 
shall  not  have  that  privilege  with  my  consent.  I  would 
be  glad  to  have  you  look  upon  her  with  favor.  You  are 
kind  to  me.  You  have  treated  me  as  a  chief  and  you 
have  bought  my  kava  bowl.  But,  ecoutez,  Monsieur, 
Toho  does  what  she  pleases,  yet  if  I  toss  but  a  pebble  in 
another  pool  she  is  furious.  See,  I  have  the  bruises 
still  of  her  beating." 


110  WHITE  SHADOWS 

With  a  tearful  whine  he  showed  the  black-and-blue 
imprints  of  Toho's  anger,  and  made  it  known  to  us 
that  the  three  piastres  he  had  of  me  for  the  kav a  bowl 
had  been  traced  by  his  wife  to  the  till  of  Le  Brunnec's 
store,  where  Flower,  the  daughter  of  Lam  Kai  Oo,  had 
spent  them  for  ribbons.  Toho  in  her  fury  had  beaten 
him  so  that  for  a  day  and  a  night  he  lay  groaning  upon 
the  mats. 

"That  is  as  it  should  be,"  said  Malicious  Gossip, 
sternly,  while  her  curving  lips  set  in  straight  lines. 
Sex  morality  means  conformity  to  sex  tapus,  the  world 
over. 

Free  polyandry  still  exists  in  many  countries  I  have 
seen,  and  in  others  its  dying  out  leaves  these  frag- 
mentary survivals.  I  have  visited  the  tribe  of  Subanos, 
in  the  west  and  north  of  the  island  of  Mindanao  in  the 
Philippine  archipelago,  where  the  rich  men  are  polyga- 
mists,  and  the  poor  still  submit  to  polyandry.  Eco- 
nomic conditions  there  bring  about  the  same  relations, 
under  a  different  guise,  as  in  Europe  or  America, 
where  wealthy  rakes  keep  up  several  establishments, 
and  many  wage-earners  support  but  one  prostitute. 

Polyandry  is  found  almost  exclusively  in  poor  coun- 
tries, where  there  is  always  a  scarcity  of  females.  Thus 
we  have  polyandjry  founded  on  a  surplus  of  males 
caused  by  poverty  of  sustenance.  The  female  is,  in 
fact,  supposed  to  be  the  result  of  a  surplus  of  nutrition ; 
more  boys  than  girls  are  born  in  the  country  districts 
because  the  city  diet  is  richer,  especially  in  meat  and 
sugar.  It  is  notable  that  the  families  of  the  pioneers  of 
western  America  bore  a  surprising  majority  of  males. 

In  the  Marquesas,  where  living  was  always  difficult 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  111 

and  the  diet  poor,  there  were  always  more  men  than 
womeii  despite  the  frequent  wars  in  which  men  were 
victims.  Another  reason  was  that  male  children  were 
saved  often  when  females  were  killed  in  the  practice  of 
infanticide,  also  forced  by  famine.  The  overplus  of 
men  made  them  amenable  to  the  commands  of  the 
women,  who  often  dominated  in  permanent  alliances, 
demanding  lavishment  of  wealth  and  attention  from 
their  husbands. 

Yet — and  this  is  a  most  significant  fact — the  father- 
right  in  the  child  remained  the  basis  of  the  social  system. 

Throughout  all  Australia,  Melanesia,  and  Papuasis 
on  the  east,  and  America  on  the  west,  the  mother-right 
prevailed  among  primitive  peoples.  Children  followed 
the  mother,  took  their  name  from  her,  and  inherited 
property  through  her.  I  have  known  a  Hawaiian 
nobleman  who,  commenting  on  this  fact,  said  that  the 
system  had  merit  in  that  no  child  could  be  called  a 
bastard,  and  that  the  woman,  who  suffered  most,  was 
rewarded  by  pride  of  posterity.  He  himself,  he  said, 
was  the  son  of  a  chieftess,  but  his  father,  a  king,  was  the 
son  of  a  negro  cobbler. 

The  father-right,  so  familiar  to  our  minds  that  it 
seems  to-day  almost  the  only  natural  or  existing  social 
system,  was  in  fact  developed  very  lately  among  all 
races  except  the  Caucasian  and  some  tribes  of  the  Mon- 
gols. Yet  in  the  Marquesas,  these  islands  cut  off  from 
all  other  peoples  through  ages  of  history,  the  father- 
right  prevailed  in  spite  of  all  the  difficulties  that  at- 
tended its  survival  in  polyandry. 

Each  woman  had  many  husbands,  whom  she  ruled. 
The  true  paternity  of  her  children  it  was  impossible  to 


112  WHITE  SHADOWS 

ascertain.  Yet  so  tenaciously  did  the  Marquesans 
cling  to  the  father-right  in  the  child,  that  even  this  fact 
could  not  break  it  down.  One  husband  was  legally  the 
father  of  all  her  children,  ostensibly  at  least  the  owner 
of  the  household  and  of  such  small  personal  property  as 
belonged  to  it  under  communism.  The  man  remained, 
though  in  name  only,  the  head  of  the  polyandrous 
family. 

I  seemed  to  see  in  this  curious  fact  another  proof  of 
the  ancient  kinship  between  the  first  men  of  my  own 
race  and  the  prehistoric  grandfathers  of  Malicious  Gos- 
sip and  Haabunai.  My  savage  friends,  with  their  clear 
features,  their  large  straight  eyes  and  olive  skins, 
showed  still  the  traces  of  their  Caucasian  blood.  Their 
forefathers  and  mine  may  have  hunted  the  great  winged 
lizards  together  through  primeval  wildernesses,  until, 
driven  by  who  knows  what  urge  of  wanderlust  or  neces- 
sity, certain  tribes  set  out  in  that  drive  through  Europe 
and  Asia  toward  America  that  ended  at  last,  when  a 
continent  sunk  beneath  their  feet,  on  these  islands  in 
the  southern  seas. 

It  was  a  far  flight  for  fancy  to  take,  from  my  paepae 
in  the  jungle  at  the  foot  of  Temetiu,  but  looking  at  the 
beauty  and  grace  of  Malicious  Gossip  as  she  sat  on  my 
mats  in  her  crimson  pareu,  I  liked  to  think  that  it  was 
so. 

"We  are  cousins,"  I  said  to  her,  handing  her  a 
freshly-opened  cocoanut  which  Exploding  Eggs 
brought. 

"You  are  a  great  chief,  but  we  love  you  as  a  blood- 
brother,"  she  answered  gravely,  and  lifted  the  shell 
bowl  to  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Filling  the  popoi  pits  in  the  season  of  the  breadfruit;  legend  of  the  met; 
the  secret  festival  in  a  hidden  valley. 

ON  the  road  to  the  beach  one  morning  I  came 
upon  Great  Fern,  my  landlord.  Garbed  in 
brilliant  yellow  pareu,  he  bore  on  his  shoulders 
an  immense  kooka,  or  basket  of  cocoanut  fiber,  filled  with 
quite  two  hundred  pounds  of  breadfruit.  The  superb 
muscles  stood  out  on  his  perfect  body,  wet  with  perspir- 
ation as  though  he  had  come  from  the  river. 

"Kaoha,  Great  Fern!"  I  said.  "Where  do  you  go 
with  the  mei?" 

"It  is  Meinui,  the  season  of  the  breadfruit,"  he  re- 
plied. "We  fill  the  popoi  pit  beside  my  house." 

There  is  a  word  on  the  Marquesan  tongue  vividly 
picturing  the  terrors  of  famine.  It  means,  "one  who  is 
burned  to  drive  away  a  drought."  In  these  islands  cut 
off  from  the  world  the  very  life  of  the  people  depends  on 
the  grace  of  rain.  Though  the  skies  had  been  kind  for 
several  years,  not  a  day  passing  without  a  gentle  down- 
pour, there  had  been  in  the  past  dry  periods  when  even 
the  hardiest  vegetation  all  but  perished.  So  it  came 
about  that  the  Marquesan  was  obliged  to  improvise  a 
method  of  keeping  breadfruit  for  a  long  time,  and  be- 
coming habituated  to  sour  food  he  learned  to  like  it, 
as  many  Americans  relish  ill-smelling  cheese  and  fish 
and  meat,  or  drink  with  pleasure  absinthe,  bitters,  and 
other  gagging  beverages. 

113 


114  WHITE  SHADOWS 

In  this  season  of  plenteous  breadfruit,  therefore, 
Great  Fern  had  opened  his  popoi  pit,  and  was  replenish- 
ing its  supply.  A  half-dozen  who  ate  from  it  were 
helping  him.  Only  the  enthusiasm  of  the  traveler  for 
a  strange  sight  held  me  within  radius  of  its  odor. 

It  was  sunk  in  the  earth,  four  feet  deep  and  perhaps 
five  in  diameter,  and  was  only  a  dozen  years  old,  which 
made  it  a  comparatively  small  and  recently  acquired 
household  possession  in  the  eyes  of  my  savage  friends. 
Mouth  of  God  and  Malicious  Gossip  owned  a  popoi  pit 
dug  by  his  grandfather,  who  was  eaten  by  the  men  of 
Taaoa,  and  near  the  house  of  Vaikehu,  a  descendant  of 
the  only  Marquesan  queen,  there  was  a  uuama  tehito, 
or  ancient  hole,  the  origin  of  which  was  lost  in 
the  dimness  of  centuries.  It  was  fifty  feet  long  and 
said  to  be  even  deeper,  though  no  living  Marquesan  had 
ever  tasted  its  stores,  or  never  would  unless  dire  famine 
compelled.  It  was  tapu  to  the  memory  of  the  dead. 

All  over  the  valley  the  filling  of  the  pits  for  reserve 
against  need  was  in  progress.  Up  and  down  the  trails 
the  men  were  hastening,  bearing  the  kookas  filled  with 
the  ripe  fruit,  large  as  Edam  cheeses  and  pitted  on  the 
surface  like  a  golf-ball.  A  breadfruit  weighs  from  two 
to  eight  pounds,  and  giants  like  Great  Fern  or  Haab- 
uani  carried  in  the  kookas  two  or  three  hundred  pounds 
for  miles  on  the  steep  and  rocky  trails. 

In  the  banana-groves  or  among  thickets  of  ti  the 
women  were  gathering  leaves  for  lining  and  covering 
the  pits,  while  around  the  center  of  interest  naked  chil- 
dren ran  about,  hindering  and  thinking  they  were  help- 
ing, after  the  manner  of  children  in  all  lands  when  fu- 
ture feasts  are  in  preparation. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  115 

There  was  a  time  when  each  grove  of  breadfruit  had 
its  owners,  who  guarded  it  for  their  own  use,  and  even 
each  tree  had  its  allotted  proprietor,  or  perhaps  several. 
Density  of  population  everywhere  causes  each  mouth- 
ful of  food  to  be  counted.  I  have  known  in  Ceylon  an 
English  judge  who  was  called  upon  to  decide  the  legal 
ownership  of  one  2520th  part  of  ten  cocoanut-trees. 
But  my  friends  who  were  filling  the  popoi  pits  now 
might  gather  from  any  tree  they  pleased.  There  was 
plenty  of  breadfruit  now  that  there  were  few  people. 

Great  Fern  was  culling  from  a  grove  on  the  moun- 
tain-side above  my  house.  Taking  his  stand  beneath 
one  of  the  stately  trees  whose  freakish  branches  and 
large,  glossy,  dark-green  leaves  spread  perhaps  ninety 
feet  above  his  head,  he  reached  the  nearer  boughs  with 
an  omei,  a  very  long  stick  with  a  forked  end  to  which 
was  attached  a  small  net  of  cocoanut  fiber.  Deftly 
twisting  a  fruit  from  its  stem  by  a  dexterous  jerk  of  the 
cleft  tip,  he  caught  it  in  the  net,  and  lowered  it  to  the 
kooka  on  the  ground  by  his  side. 

When  the  best  of  the  fruit  within  reach  was  gathered, 
he  climbed  the  tree,  carrying  the  omei.  Each  brown 
toe  clasped  the  boughs  like  a  ringer,  nimble  and  inde- 
pendent of  its  fellows  through  long  use  in  grasping 
limbs  and  rocks.  This  is  remarkable  of  the  Mar- 
quesans;  each  toe  in  the  old  and  industrious  is  often 
separated  a  half  inch  from  the  others,  and  I  have  seen 
the  big  toe  opposed  from  the  other  four  like  a  thumb. 
My  neighbors  picked  up  small  things  easily  with  their 
toes,  and  bent  them  back  out  of  sight,  like  a  fist,  when 
squatting. 

Gripping  a  branch  firmly  with  these  hand-like  feet, 


116  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Great  Fern  wielded  the  omei,  bringing  down  other 
breadfruit  one  by  one,  taking  great  care  not  to  bruise 
them.  The  cocoanut  one  may  throw  eighty  feet,  with  a 
twisting  motion  that  lands  it  upon  one  end  so  that  it 
does  not  break.  But  the  mci  is  delicate,  and  spoils 
if  roughly  handled. 

Working  in  this  fashion,  Great  Fern  and  his  neigh- 
bors carried  down  to  the  popoi  pit  perhaps  four  hun- 
dred breadfruit  daily,  piling  them  there  to  be  prepared 
by  the  women.  Apporo  and  her  companions  busied 
themselves  in  piercing  each  fruit  with  a  sharp  stick  and 
spreading  them  on  the  ground  to  ferment  over  night. 

In  the  morning,  squatted  on  their  haunches  and 
chanting  as  they  worked,  the  women  scraped  the  rind 
from  the  fermented  mei  with  cowry  shells,  and  grated 
the  fruit  into  the  pit  which  they  had  lined  with  banana 
leaves.  From  time  to  time  they  stood  in  the  pit  and 
tramped  down  the  mass  of  pulp,  or  thumped  it  with 
wooden  clubs. 

For  two  weeks  or  more  the  work  continued.  In  the 
ancient  days  much  ceremoniousness  attended  this  pro- 
vision against  future  famine,  but  to-day  in  Atuona  only 
one  rule  was  observed,  that  forbidding  sexual  inter- 
course by  those  engaged  in  filling  the  pits. 

"To  break  that  tapu''  said  Great  Fern,  "would  mean 
sickness  and  disaster.  Any  one  who  ate  such  popoi 
would  vomit.  The  forbidden  food  cannot  be  retained 
by  the  stomach." 

To  vomit  during  the  fortnight  occupied  in  the  task  of 
conserving  the  breadfruit  brought  grave  suspicion  that 
the  unfortunate  had  broken  the  tapu.  When  their  own 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  117 

savage  laws  governed  them,  that  unhappy  person  often 
died  from  fear  of  discovery  and  the  wrath  of  the  gods. 
To  guard  against  such  a  fate  those  who  were  not  strong 
and  well  took  no  part  in  the  task. 

This  curious  connection  between  sex  and  the  prepara- 
tion of  food  applied  in  many  other  cases.  A  woman 
making  oil  from  dried  cocoanuts  was  tapu  as  to  sexual 
relations  for  four  or  five  days,  and  believed  that  if  did 
she  sin,  her  labor  would  produce  no  oil.  A  man  cook- 
ing in  an  oven  at  night  obeyed  the  same  tapu.  I  do  not 
know,  and  was  unable  to  discover,  the  origin  of  these 
prohibitions.  Like  many  of  our  own  customs,  it  has 
been  lost  in  the  mist  of  ages. 

A  Tahitian  legend  of  the  origin  of  the  breadfruit  re- 
counts that  in  ancient  times  the  people  subsisted  on 
araea,  red  earth.  A  couple  had  a  sickly  son,  their  only 
child,  who  day  by  day  slowly  grew  weaker  on  the  diet 
of  earth,  until  the  father  begged  the  gods  to  accept  him 
as  an  offering  and  let  him  become  food  for  the  boy. 
From  the  darkness  of  the  temple  the  gods  at  last  spoke 
to  him,  granting  his  prayer.  He  returned  to  his  wife 
and  prepared  for  death,  instructing  her  to  bury  his 
head,  heart  and  stomach  at  different  spots  in  the  forest. 

"When  you  shall  hear  in  the  night  a  sound  like  that 
of  a  leaf,  then  of  a  flower,  afterward  of  an  unripe  fruit, 
and  then  of  a  ripe,  round  fruit  falling  on  the  ground, 
know  that  it  is  I  who  am  become  food  for  our  son,"  he 
said,  and  died. 

She  obeyed  him,  and  on  the  second  night  she  heard 
the  sounds.  In  the  morning  she  and  her  son  found  a 
huge  and  wonderful  tree  where  the  stomach  had  been 


118  WHITE  SHADOWS 

buried.  The  Tahitians  believe  that  the  cocoanut,  chest- 
nut, and  yam  miraculously  grew  from  other  parts  of  a 
man's  corpse. 

Breadfruit,  according  to  Percy  Smith,  was  brought 
into  these  islands  from  Java  by  the  ancestors  of  the 
Polynesians,  who  left  India  several  centuries  before 
Christ.  They  had  come  to  Indonesia  rice-eaters,  but 
there  found  the  breadfruit,  "which  they  took  with  them 
in  their  great  migration  into  these  Pacific  islands  two 
centuries  and  more  after  the  beginning  of  this  era." 

Smith  finds  in  the  Tahitian  legend  proof  of  this  con- 
tention. In  the  Polynesian  language  araea,  the  "red 
earth"  of  the  tale,  is  the  same  as  v art,  and  in  Indonesia 
there  were  the  words  fare  or  pare,  in  Malay  padi  or  peri, 
and  in  Malagasy  vari,  all  meaning  rice.  A  Rarotongan 
legend  relates  that  in  Hawaiki  two  new  fruits  were 
found,  and  the  vari  discarded.  These  fruits  were 
the  breadfruit  and  the  horse-chestnut,  neither  of  which 
is  a  native  of  Polynesia. 

I  related  these  stories  of  the  mei  to  Great  Fern,  who 
replied:  "Aue!  It  may  be.  The  old  gods  were  great, 
and  all  the  world  is  a  wonder.  As  for  me,  I  am  a 
Christian.  The  breadfruit  ripens,  and  I  fill  the  popoi 

pit.- 

Great  Fern  was  my  friend,  and,  as  he  said,  a  Chris- 
tian, yet  I  fear  that  he  did  not  tell  me  all  he  knew  of 
the  ancient  customs.  There  was  an  innocence  too  inno- 
cent in  his  manner  when  he  spoke  of  them,  like  that  of  a 
child  who  would  like  one  to  believe  that  the  cat  ate  the 
jam.  And  on  the  night  when  the  popoi  pits  were  filled, 
pressed  down  and  running  over,  when  they  had  been 
covered  with  banana  leaves  and  weighed  with  heavy 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  119 

stones,  and  the  season's  task  was  finished,  something 
occurred  that  filled  my  mind  with  many  vague  sur- 
mises. 

I  had  been  awakened  at  midnight  by  the  crashing  fall 
of  a  cocoanut  on  the  iron  roof  above  my  head.  Often 
during  the  rainy  nights  I  was  startled  by  this  sound 
of  the  incessantly  falling  nuts,  that  banged  and  rattled 
like  round  shot  over  my  head.  But  on  this  night,  as  I 
composed  myself  to  slumber  again,  my  drowsy  ears 
were  uneasy  with  another  thing,  less  a  sound  than  an 
almost  noiseless,  thrumming  vibration,  faint,  but  dis- 
turbing. 

I  sat  up  in  my  Golden  Bed,  and  listened.  Explod- 
ing Eggs  was  gone  from  his  mat.  The  little  house  was 
silent  and  empty.  Straining  my  ears  I  heard  it  unmis- 
takably through  the  rustling  noises  of  the  forest  and 
the  dripping  of  rain  from  the  eaves.  It  was  the  far, 
dim,  almost  inaudible  beating  of  a  drum. 

Old  tales  stirred  my  hair  as  I  stood  on  my  paepae  lis- 
tening to  it.  At  times  I  thought  it  a  fancy,  again  I 
heard  it  and  knew  that  I  heard  it.  At  last,  wrapping 
a  pareu  about  me,  I  went  down  my  trail  to  the  valley 
road.  The  sound  was  drowned  here  by  the  splashing 
chuckle  of  the  stream,  but  as  I  stood  undecided  in  the 
pool  of  darkness  beneath  a  dripping  banana  I  saw  a 
dark  figure  slip  silently  past  me,  going  up  toward  the 
High  Place.  It  was  followed  by  another,  moving 
through  the  night  like  a  denser  shadow.  I  went  back 
to  my  cabin,  scouted  my  urgent  desire  to  shut  and  barri- 
cade the  door,  and  went  to  bed.  After  a  long  time  I 
slept. 

When  I  awoke  next  morning  Exploding  Eggs  was 


120  WHITE  SHADOWS 

preparing  my  breakfast  as  usual,  the  sunlight  streamed 
over  breadfruit  and  palm,  and  the  night  seemed  a 
dream.  But  there  were  rumors  in  the  village  of  a 
strange  dance  held  by  the  inhabitants  of  Nuka-hiva,  on 
another  island,  in  celebration  of  the  harvest  of  the  mei. 
Weird  observances  were  hinted,  rites  participated  in 
only  by  men  who  danced  stark  naked,  praising  the  old 
gods. 

This  was  a  custom  of  the  old  days,  said  Great  Fern, 
with  those  too-innocent  eyes  opened  artlessly  upon  me. 
It  has  ever  been  the  ceremony  of  Thanks-giving  to  the 
ancient  gods,  for  a  bountiful  harvest,  a  propitiation, 
and  a  begging  of  their  continued  favor.  As  for  him, 
he  was  a  Christian.  Such  rites  were  held  no  more  in 
Atuona. 

I  asked  no  more  questions.  Thanks-giving  to  an 
omnipotent  ruler  for  the  fruits  of  the  harvest  season 
is  almost  universal.  We  have  put  in  a  proclamation 
and  in  church  services  and  the  slaughter  of  turkeys 
what  these  children  do  in  dancing,  as  did  Saul  of  old. 

The  season's  task  completed,  Great  Fern  and  Ap- 
poro  sat  back  well  content,  having  provided  excellently 
for  the  future.  Certain  of  their  neighbors,  however, 
filled  with  ambition  and  spurred  on  by  the  fact  that 
there  was  plenty  of  mei  for  all  with  no  suspicion  of 
greediness  incurred  by  excessive  possessions,  continued 
to  work  until  they  had  rilled  three  pits.  These  men 
were  regarded  with  admiration  and  some  envy,  having 
gained  great  honor.  "He  has  three  popoi  pits,"  they 
said,  as  we  would  speak  of  a  man  who  owned  a  superb 
jewel  or  a  Velasquez. 

The  grated  breadfruit  in  the  holes  was  called  ma,  and 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  121 

bore  the  same  relation  to  popoi  as  dough  bears  to  bread. 
When  the  ma  was  sufficiently  soured  Apporo  opened 
the  pit  each  morning  and  took  out  enough  for  the  day's 
provision,  replacing  the  stones  on  the  banana  leaves 
afterward.  The  intrusion  of  insects  and  lizards  was  not 
considered  to  injure  the  flavor. 

I  often  sat  on  her  paepae  and  watched  her  prepare 
the  day's  dinner.  Putting  the  rancid  mass  of  ma  into 
a  long  wooden  trough  hollowed  out  from  a  tree-trunk, 
she  added  water  and  mixed  it  into  a  paste  of  the  con- 
sistency of  custard.  This  paste  she  wrapped  in  purua 
leaves  and  set  to  bake  in  a  native  oven  of  rocks  that 
stood  near  the  pit. 

Apporo  smoked  cigarettes  while  it  baked,  perhaps  to 
measure  the  time.  Marquesans  mark  off  the  minutes 
by  cigarettes,  saying,  "I  will  do  so-and-so  in  three  ciga- 
rettes," or,  "It  is  two  cigarettes  from  my  house  to  his." 

When  the  cigarettes  were  consumed,  or  when  her 
housewifely  instinct  told  Apporo  that  the  dish  was  prop- 
erly cooked,  back  it  went  into  the  trough  again,  and  was 
mashed  with  the  keatukipopoi,  the  Phallic  pounder  of 
stone  known  to  all  primitive  peoples.  A  pahake,  or 
wooden  bowl  about  eighteen  inches  in  diameter,  re- 
ceived it  next,  and  the  last  step  of  the  process  followed. 

Taking  a  fistful  of  the  mass,  Apporo  placed  it  in  an- 
other pahake,  and  kneaded  it  for  a  long  time  with  her 
fingers,  using  oil  from  crushed  cocoanuts  as  a  lubricant. 
And  at  last,  proudly  smiling,  she  set  before  me  a  dish 
of  popoi  kaoi,  the  very  best  popoi  that  can  possibly  be 
made. 

It  is  a  dish  to  set  before  a  sorcerer.  I  would  as  lief 
eat  bill-poster's  paste  a  year  old.  It  tastes  like  a  sour, 


122  WHITE  SHADOWS 

acid  custard.  Yet  white  men  learn  to  eat  it,  even  to 
yearn  for  it.  Captain  Capriata,  of  the  schooner 
Roberta,  which  occasionally  made  port  in  Atuona  Bay, 
could  digest  little  else.  Give  him  a  bowl  of  popoi  and  a 
stewed  or  roasted  cat,  and  his  Corsican  heart  warmed  to 
the  giver. 

As  bread  or  meat  are  to  us,  so  was  popoi  to  my  tawny 
friends.  They  ate  it  every  day,  sometimes  three  or 
four  times  a  day,  and  consumed  enormous  quantities  at 
a  squatting.  As  the  peasant  of  certain  districts  of 
Europe  depends  on  black  bread  and  cheese,  the  poor 
Irish  on  potatoes  or  stirabout,  the  Scotch  on  oatmeal, 
so  the  Marquesan  satisfies  himself  with  popoi,  and  likes 
it  really  better  than  anything  else. 

Many  times,  when  unable  to  evade  the  hospitality  of 
my  neighbors,  I  squatted  with  them  about  the  brimming 
pahake  set  on  their  paepae,  and  dipped  a  finger  with 
them,  though  they  marveled  at  my  lack  of  appetite.  In 
the  silence  considered  proper  to  the  serious  business  of 
eating,  each  dipped  index  and  second  finger  into  the 
bowl,  and  neatly  conveyed  a  portion  of  the  sticky  mass 
to  his  mouth,  returning  the  fingers  to  the  bowl  cleansed 
of  the  last  particle.  Little  children,  beginning  to  eat 
popoi  ere  they  were  fairly  weaned,  put  their  whole 
hands  into  the  dish,  and  often  the  lean  and  mangy  curs 
that  dragged  out  a  wretched  dog's  existence  about  the 
paepaes  were  not  deprived  of  their  turn. 

If  one  accept  the  germ  theory,  one  may  find  in  the 
popoi  bowl  a  cause  for  the  rapid  spread  of  epidemics 
since  the  whites  brought  disease  to  the  islands. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  walk  in  the  jungle;  the  old  woman  in  the  breadfruit  tree;  a  night  in 
a  native  hut  on  the  mountain. 

ATUONA  Valley  was  dozing,  as  was  its  wont  in 
the  afternoons,  when  the  governor,  accom- 
panied by  the  guardian  of  the  palace,  each 
carrying  a  shot-gun,  invited  me  to  go  up  the  mountain 
to  shoot  kukus  for  dinner.  The  kuku  is  a  small  green 
turtle-dove,  very  common  in  the  islands,  and  called  also 
u'u  and  kukupa.  Under  any  of  these  names  the  green- 
feathered  morsel  is  excellent  eating  when  broiled  or 
fried. 

I  did  not  take  a  gun,  as,  unless  hunger  demands  it,  I 
do  not  like  to  kill.  We  started  out  together,  climbing 
the  trail  in  single  file,  but  the  enthusiasm  of  the  chase 
soon  led  my  companions  into  the  deeper  brush  where 
the  little  doves  lured  them,  and  only  the  sharp  crack  of 
an  occasional  shot  wakening  the  echoes  of  the  cliffs  dis- 
turbed my  solitude. 

The  dark  stillness  of  the  deep  valley,  where  the 
shadows  of  the  mountains  fell  upon  groves  of  cocoanuts 
and  miles  of  tangled  bush,  recalled  to  me  a  canon  in 
New  York  City,  in  the  center  of  the  world  of  finance, 
gloomy  even  at  noon,  the  sky-touching  buildings  dark- 
ening the  street  and  the  spirits  of  the  dwellers  like 
mountains.  There,  when  at  an  unsual  moment  I  had 
come  from  the  artificially-lighted  cage  of  a  thousand 
slaves  to  money-getting,  and  found  the  street  for  a 

123 


124  WHITE  SHADOWS 

second  deserted,  no  figure  of  animal  or  human  in  its 
sombre  sweep,  I  had  the  same  sensation  of  solitude  and 
awe  as  in  this  jungle.  Suddenly  a  multitude  of  people 
had  debouched  from  many  points,  and  shattered  the  im- 
pression. 

But  here,  in  Atuona  Valley,  the  hoot  of  the  owl,  the 
kouku,  which  in  Malay  is  the  ghost-bird,  the  burong- 
hantu,  seemed  to  deepen  the  silence.  Does  not  that 
word  hantu,  meaning  in  Malay  an  evil  spirit,  have  some 
obscure  connection  with  our  American  negro  "hant,"  a 
goblin  or  ghost?  Certainly  the  bird's  long  and  dismal 
"Hoo-oo-oo"  wailing  through  the  shuddering  forest 
evoked  dim  and  chilling  memories  of  tales  told  by 
candlelight  when  I  was  a  child  in  Maryland. 

Here  on  the  lower  levels  I  was  still  among  the 
cocoanut-groves.  The  trail  passed  through  acres  of 
them,  their  tall  gray  columns  rising  like  cathedral  arches 
eighty  feet  above  a  green  mat  of  creeping  vines.  Again 
it  dipped  into  the  woods,  where  one  or  two  palms  strug- 
gled upward  from  a  clutching  jungle.  Everywhere  I 
saw  the  nuts  tied  by  their  natural  stems  in  clumps  of 
forty  or  fifty  and  fastened  to  limbs  which  had  been 
cut  and  lashed  between  trees.  These  had  been  gathered 
by  climbers  and  left  thus  to  be  collected  for  drying  into 
copra. 

Constantly  the  ripe  nuts  not  yet  gathered  fell  about 
me.  These  heavy  missiles,  many  six  or  seven  pounds  in 
weight,  fell  from  heights  of  fifty  to  one  hundred  feet 
and  struck  the  earth  with  a  dull  sound.  The  roads  and 
trails  were  littered  with  them.  They  fall  every  hour  of 
the  day  in  the  tropics,  yet  I  have  never  seen  any  one 
hurt  by  them.  Narrow  escapes  I  had  myself,  and  I 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  125 

have  heard  of  one  or  two  who  were  severely  injured  or 
even  killed  by  them,  but  the  accidents  are  entirely  out 
of  proportion  to  the  shots  fired  by  the  trees.  One  be- 
comes an  expert  at  dodging,  and  an  instinct  draws  one's 
eyes  to  the  branch  about  to  shed  a  mei,  or  the  palm  in- 
tending to  launch  a  cocoanut. 

As  I  made  my  way  up  the  trail,  pausing  now  and 
then  to  look  about  me,  I  came  upon  an  old  woman  lean- 
ing feebly  on  a  tall  staff.  Although  it  was  the  hour  of 
afternoon  sleep,  she  was  abroad  for  some  reason,  and  I 
stopped  to  say  "Kaoha"  to  her.  A  figure  of  wretched- 
ness she  was,  bent  almost  double,  her  withered,  decrepit 
limbs  clad  in  a  ragged  pareu  and  her  lean  arms  clutch- 
ing the  stick  that  bore  her  weight.  She  was  so  aged 
that  she  appeared  unable  to  hear  my  greeting,  and  re- 
plied only  mutteringly,  while  her  bleary  eyes  gleamed 
up  at  me  between  fallen  lids. 

Such  miserable  age  appealed  to  pity,  but  as  she  ap- 
peared to  wish  no  aid,  I  left  her  leaning  on  her  staff, 
and  moved  farther  along  the  trail,  stopping  again  to 
gaze  at  the  shadowed  valley  below  while  I  mused  on  the 
centuries  it  had  seen  and  the  brief  moment  of  a  man's 
life.  Standing  thus,  I  was  like  to  lose  my  own,  for  sud- 
denly I  heard  a  whirr  like  that  of  a  shrapnel  shell  on 
its  murderous  errand,  and  at  my  feet  fell  a  projectile. 

I  saw  that  it  was  a  breadfruit  and  that  I  was  under 
the  greatest  tree  of  that  variety  I  had  ever  seen,  a  hun- 
dred feet  high  and  spreading  like  a  giant  oak.  In  the 
topmost  branches  was  the  tottering  beldame  I  had 
saluted,  and  in  both  her  hands  the  staff,  a  dozen  feet 
long.  She  was  threshing  the  fruit  from  the  tree  with 
astounding  energy  and  agility,  her  scanty  rags  blown 


126  WHITE  SHADOWS 

by  the  wind,  and  her  emaciated,  naked  figure  in  its 
arboreal  surroundings  like  that  of  an  aged  ape. 

How  she  held  on  was  a  mystery,  for  she  seemed  to 
lean  out  from  a  limb  at  a  right  angle,  yet  she  had  but  a 
toe-hold  upon  it.  No  part  of  her  body  but  her  feet 
touched  the  branch,  nor  had  she  any  other  support  but 
that,  yet  she  banged  the  staff  about  actively  and  sent 
more  six-pounders  down,  so  that  I  fled  without  further 
reflection. 

The  score  of  houses  strung  along  the  upper  reaches 
of  Atuona  Valley  were  silent  at  this  hour,  and  every 
where  native  houses  were  decaying,  their  falling  walls 
and  sunken  roofs  remembering  the  thousands  who  once 
had  their  homes  here.  Occasionally  in  our  own  country 
we  see  houses  untenanted  and  falling  to  ruin,  bearing 
unmistakable  evidences  of  death  or  desertion,  and  I 
have  followed  armies  that  devastated  a  countryside  and 
slew  its  people  or  hunted  them  to  the  hills,  but  the  first 
is  a  solitary  case,  and  the  second,  though  full  of  horror, 
has  at  least  the  element  of  activity,  of  moving  and  strug- 
gling life.  The  rotting  homes  of  the  Marquesan  peo- 
ple speak  more  eloquently  of  death  than  do  sunken 
graves. 

In  these  vales,  which  each  held  a  thousand  or  several 
thousand  when  the  blight  of  the  white  man  came,  the 
abandoned  paepaes  are  solemn  and  shrouded  witnesses 
of  the  death  of  a  race.  The  jungle  runs  over  them,  and 
only  remnants  remain  of  the  houses  that  sat  upon  them. 
Their  owners  have  died,  leaving  no  posterity  to  inhabit 
their  homes ;  neighbors  have  removed  their  few  chattels, 
and  the  wilderness  has  claimed  its  own.  In  every  val- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  127 

ley  these  dark  monuments  to  the  benefits  of  civilization 
hide  themselves  in  the  thickets. 

None  treads  the  stones  that  held  the  houses  of  the 
dead.  They  are  tapu;  about  them  flit  the  veinahae,  the 
matiahae,  and  the  etuahae,  dread  vampires  and  ghosts 
that  have  charge  of  the  corpse  and  wait  to  seize  the  liv- 
ing. Well  have  these  ghoulish  phantoms  feasted; 
whole  islands  are  theirs,  and  soon  they  will  sit  upon  the 
paepae  of  the  last  Marquesan. 

I  reached  the  top  of  the  gulch  and  paused  to  gaze  at 
its  extent.  The  great  hills  rose  sheer  and  rugged  a  mile 
away;  the  cocoanuts  ceased  at  a  lower  level,  and  where 
I  stood  the  precipices  were  a  mass  of  wild  trees,  bushes, 
and  creepers.  From  black  to  lightest  green  the  colors 
ran,  from  smoky  crests  and  gloomy  ravines  to  the 
stream  singing  its  way  a  hundred  feet  below  the  trail. 

A  hundred  varieties  of  flowers  poured  forth  their  per- 
fume upon  the  lonely  scene.  The  frangipani,  the  red 
jasmine  of  delicious  odor,  and  tropical  gardenias, 
weighted  the  warm  air  with  their  heavy  scents. 

Beside  the  trail  grew  the  hutu-tree  with  crimson- 
tasseled  flowers  among  broad  leaves,  and  fruit  prickly 
and  pear-shaped.  It  is  a  fruit  not  to  be  «aten  by  man, 
but  immemorally  used  by  lazy  fishermen  to  insure  mirac- 
ulous draughts.  Streams  are  dammed  up  and  the 
pears  thrown  in.  Soon  the  fish  become  stupified  and 
float  upon  the  surface  to  the  gaping  nets  of  the  pois- 
oners. They  are  not  hurt  in  flavor  or  edibility. 

The  keoho,  a  thorny  shrub,  caught  at  my  clothes  as 
I  left  the  trail.  Its  weapons  of  defence  serve  often  as 
pins  for  the  native,  who  in  the  forest  improvises  for 


128  WHITE  SHADOWS 

himself  a  hat  or  umbrella  of  leaves.  Beside  me,  too, 
was  the  putara,  a  broad-leaved  bush  and  the  lemon  hi- 
biscus, with  its  big,  yellow  flower,  black-centered,  was 
twisted  through  these  shubs  and  wound  about  the  trunk 
of  the  giant  aea,  in  whose  branches  the  kuku  mur- 
mured to  its  mate.  Often  the  flowering  vine  stopped 
my  progress.  I  struggled  to  free  myself  from  its 
clutch  as  I  fought  through  the  mass  of  vegetation,  and 
pausing  perforce  to  let  my  panting  lungs  gulp  the  air, 
I  saw  around  me  ever  new  and  stranger  growths — or- 
chids, giant  creepers,  the  noni  enata,  a  small  bush  with 
crimson  pears  upon  it,  the  toa  or  ironwood,  which  gave 
deadly  clubs  in  war-time,  but  now  spread  its  boughs 
peacefully  amidst  the  prodigal  foliage  of  its  neighbors. 

The  umbrella  fern,  mana-mana-hine,  was  all  about. 
The  ama,  the  candlenut-tree,  shed  its  oily  nuts  on  the 
earth.  The  puu-epu,  the  paper  mulberry,  with  yellow 
blossoms  and  cottony,  round  leaves,  jostled  pandanus 
and  hibiscus ;  the  ena-vao,  a  wild  ginger  with  edible,  but 
spicy,  cones,  and  the  lacebark-tree,  the  faufee,  which 
furnishes  cordage  from  its  bark,  contested  for  footing 
in  the  rich  earth  and  fought  for  the  sun  that  even  on  the 
brightest  day  never  reached  their  roots. 

I  staggered  through  the  bush,  falling  over  rotten 
trees  and  struggling  in  the  mass  of  shrubs  and  tangled 
vines. 

Away  up  here,  hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
there  were  three  or  four  houses;  not  the  blue-painted 
or  whitewashed  cabins  of  the  settlement,  but  half -open 
native  cots,  with  smoke  rising  from  the  fire  made  in  a 
circle  of  stones  on  the  paepaes.  The  hour  of  sleep  had 
passed,  and  squatted  before  the  troughs  men  and  women 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  129 

mashed  the  ma  for  the  popoi,  or  idled  on  the  platform 
in  red  and  yellow  pareus,  watching  the  roasting  bread- 
fruit. There  must  be  poverty-stricken  folk  indeed,  for 
I  saw  that  the  houses  showed  no  sign  whatever  of  the 
ugliness  that  the  Marquesan  has  aped  from  the  whites. 
Yet  neither  were  they  the  wretched  huts  of  straw  and 
thatch  which  I  had  seen  in  the  valley  and  supposed  to 
be  the  only  remnants  of  the  native  architecture. 

As  I  drew  nearer,  I  saw  that  I  had  stumbled  upon 
such  a  house  as  the  Marquesan  had  known  in  the  days 
of  his  strength,  when  pride  of  artistry  had  created  won- 
derful and  beautiful  structures  of  native  wood  adorned 
in  elegant  and  curious  patterns. 

It  was  erected  upon  a  paepae  about  ten  feet  high, 
reached  by  a  broad  and  smooth  stairway  of  similar  mas- 
sive black  rocks.  The  house,  long  and  narrow,  covered 
all  of  the  paepae  but  a  veranda  in  front,  the  edge  of 
which  was  fenced  with  bamboo  ingeniously  formed 
into  patterns  of  squares.  A  friendly  call  of  "Kaoha!" 
in  response  to  mine,  summoned  me  to  the  family  meet- 
ing-place, and  I  mounted  the  steps  with  eagerness. 

I  was  met  by  a  stalwart  and  handsome  savage,  in 
earrings  and  necklace  and  scarlet  pareu,  who  rubbed 
my  nose  with  his  and  smelled  me  ceremoniously,  wel- 
coming me  as  an  honored  guest.  Several  women  fol- 
lowed his  example,  while  naked  children  ran  forward 
curiously  to  look  at  the  stranger. 

Learning  the  interest  and  admiration  I  felt  for  his 
house,  my  host  displayed  it  with  ill-concealed  pride. 
Its  frame  was  of  the  largest-sized  bamboos  standing  up- 
right, and  faced  with  hibiscus  strips,  all  lashed  hand- 
somely and  strongly  with  faufee  cordage.  Upon  this 


130  WHITE  SHADOWS 

framework  were  set  the  walls,  constructed  of  canes  ar- 
ranged in  a  delicate  pattern,  the  fastenings  being  of 
purau  or  other  rattan-like  creepers,  all  tied  neatly  and 
regularly.  As  the  residence  was  only  about  a  dozen  feet 
deep,  through  three  times  that  length,  these  walls  were 
not  only  attractive  but  eminently  serviceable,  the  canes 
shading  the  interior,  and  the  interstices  between  them 
admitting  ample  light  and  air. 

We  entered  through  a  low  opening  and  found  the  one 
long  chamber  spacious,  cool,  and  perfumed  with  the 
forest  odors.  There  were  no  furnishings  save  two  large 
and  brilliantly  polished  cocoanut-tree  trunks  running 
the  whole  length  of  the  interior,  and  between  them  piles 
of  mats  of  many  designs  and  of  every  bright  hue  that 
roots  and  herbs  will  yield. 

While  I  admired  these,  noting  their  rich  colors  and 
soft,  yet  firm,  texture,  a  murmurous  rustle  on  the  palm- 
thatched  roof  announced  the  coming  of  the  rain.  It 
was  unthinkable  to  my  host  that  a  stranger  should  leave 
his  house  at  nightfall,  and  in  a  downpour  that  might 
become  a  deluge  before  morning.  To  have  refused  his 
invitation  had  been  to  leave  a  pained  and  bewildered 
household. 

Popoi  bowls  and  wooden  platters  of  the  roasted 
breadfruit  were  brought  within  shelter,  and  while  the 
hissing  rain  put  out  the  fires  on  the  paepae  the  candle- 
nuts  were  lighted  and  all  squatted  for  the  evening  meal. 
Breadfruit  and  yams,  with  a  draught  of  cocoanut  milk, 
satisfied  the  hunger  created  by  my  arduous  climb. 
Then  the  women  carried  away  the  empty  bowls  while 
my  host  and  I  lay  upon  the  mats  and  smoked,  watching 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  131 

the  gray  slant  of  the  rain  through  the  darkening  twi- 
light. 

Few  houses  like  his  remained  on  Hiva-Oe,  he  said  in 
reply  to  my  compliments.  The  people  loved  the  ways 
of  the  whites  and  longed  for  homes  of  redwood  planks 
and  roofs  of  iron.  For  himself,  he  loved  the  ways  of 
his  fathers,  and  though  yielding  as  he  must  to  the  pay- 
ments of  taxes  and  the  authority  of  new  laws,  he  would 
not  toil  in  the  copra-groves  or  work  on  traders'  ships. 
His  father  had  been  a  warrior  of  renown.  The  uu 
was  wielded  no  more,  being  replaced  by  the  guns  of 
the  whites.  The  old  songs  were  forgotten.  But  he, 
who  had  traveled  far,  who  had  seen  the  capital  of  the 
world,  Tahiti,  and  had  learned  much  of  the  ways  of  the 
foreigner,  would  have  none  of  them.  He  would  live  as 
his  fathers  had  lived,  and  die  as  they  had  died. 

"It  is  not  long.  We  vanish  like  the  small  fish  before 
the  hunger  of  the  mako.  The  High  Places  are  broken, 
and  the  pahue  covers  our  paepaes.  It  does  not  matter. 
E  tupu  te  fau;  e  toro  to  farero,  e  mou  te  taata.  The 
hibiscus  shall  grow,  the  coral  shall  spread,  and  man 
shall  cease.  There  is  sleep  on  your  eyelids,  and  the 
mats  are  ready." 

His  hospitality  would  give  me  the  place  of  honor, 
despite  my  protests,  and  soon  I  found  myself  lying  be- 
tween my  host  and  his  wife,  while  the  other  members  of 
the  household  lay  in  serried  rank  beyond  her  on  the 
mats  that  filled  the  hollow  between  the  palm-trunks. 
All  slept  with  the  backs  of  their  heads  upon  one  timber, 
and  the  backs  of  their  knees  over  the  other,  but  I  found 
comfort  on  the  soft  pile  between  them. 


132  WHITE  SHADOWS 

My  companions  slumbered  peacefully,  as  I  have  re- 
marked that  men  do  in  all  countries  where  the  people 
live  near,  and  much  in,  the  sea.  There  was  no  snoring 
or  groaning,  no  convulsive  movement  of  arms  or  legs, 
no  grimaces  or  frowns  such  as  mark  the  fitful  sleep  of 
most  city  dwellers  and  of  all  of  us  who  worry  or  burn 
the  candle  at  both  ends. 

I  lay  listening  for  some  time  to  their  quiet  breathing 
and  the  sound  of  rain  drumming  on  the  thatch,  but  at 
last  my  eyes  closed,  and  only  the  dawn  awoke  me. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  household  of  Lam  Kai  Oo;  copra  making;  marvels  of  the  cocoanut- 
groves;  the  sagacity  of  pigs;  and  a  crab  that  knows  the  laws  of  gravi- 
tation. 

NEXT  morning,  after  bidding  farewell  to  my 
hosts,  I  set  out  down  the  mountain  in  the  early 
freshness  of  a  sunny,  rain-washed  morning.  I 
followed  a  trail  new  to  me,  a  path  steep  as  a  stairway, 
walled  in  by  the  water- jeweled  jungle  pressing  so  close 
upon  me  that  at  times  I  saw  the  sky  only  through  the 
interlacing  fronds  of  the  tree-ferns  above  my  head. 

I  had  gone  perhaps  a  mile  without  seeing  any  sign 
of  human  habitation,  hearing  only  the  conversation  of 
the  birds  and  the  multitudinous  murmuring  of  leaves, 
when  a  heavy  shower  began  to  fall.  Pressing  on,  ham- 
pered by  my  clinging  garments  and  slipping  in  the  path 
that  had  instantly  become  a  miniature  torrent,  I  came 
upon  a  little  clearing  in  which  stood  a  dirty,  dark 
shanty,  like  a  hovel  in  the  outskirts  of  Canton,  not  raised 
on  a  paepae  but  squat  in  an  acre  of  mud  and  the  filth  of 
years. 

Two  children,  three  or  four  years  old,  played  naked 
in  the  muck,  and  Flower,  of  the  red-gold  hair,  reputed 
the  wickedest  woman  in  the  Marquesas,  ironed  her 
gowns  on  the  floor  of  the  porch.  Raising  her  heac^  she 
called  to  me  to  come  in. 

This  was  the  house  of  Lam  Kai  Oo,  the  adopted 
father  of  Flower.  Seventy-one  years  old,  Lam  Kai  Oo 

133 


134  WHITE  SHADOWS 

had  made  this  his  home  since  he  left  the  employ  of  Cap- 
tain Hart,  the  unfortunate  American  cotton  planter, 
and  here  he  had  buried  three  native  wives.  His  fourth, 
a  woman  of  twenty  years,  sat  in  the  shelter  of  a  copra 
shed  nursing  a  six-months'  infant.  Her  breasts  were 
dark  blue,  almost  black,  a  characteristic  of  nursing 
mothers  here. 

Both  the  mother  and  Flower  argued  with  me  that  I 
should  make  Many  Daughters  my  wife  during  my  stay 
in  Atuona,  and  if  not  the  leper  lass,  then  another  friend 
they  had  chosen  for  me.  Flower  herself  had  done  me 
the  honor  of  proposing  a  temporary  alliance,  but  I  had 
persuaded  her  that  I  was  not  worthy  of  her  beauty  and 
talents.  Any  plea  that  it  was  not  according  to  my  code, 
of  even  that  it  was  un-Christian,  provoked  peals  of 
laughter  from  all  who  heard  it ;  sooth  to  say,  the  whites 
laughed  loudest. 

Beneath  a  thatch  of  palm-leaves  Lam  Kai  Oo  was 
drying  cocoanuts.  His  withered  yellow  body  straddled 
a  kind  of  bench,  to  which  was  fixed  a  sharp-pointed  stick 
of  iron-wood.  Seizing  each  nut  in  his  claw-like  hands, 
he  pushed  it  against  this  point,  turning  and  twisting  it 
as  he  ripped  off  the  thick  and  fibrous  husk.  Then  he 
cracked  each  nut  in  half  with  a  well-directed  blow  of  a 
heavy  knife.  For  the  best  copra-making,  the  half -nuts 
should  be  placed  in  the  sun,  concave  side  up.  As  the 
meats  begin  to  dry,  they  shrink  away  from  the  shell  and 
are  readily  removed,  being  then  copra,  the  foundation 
of  the  many  toilet  preparations,  soaps  and  creams,  that 
are  made  from  cocoa-oil. 

As  it  rains  much  in  the  Marquesas,  the  drying  is  often 
done  in  ovens,  though  sun-dried  copra  commands  a 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  135 

higher  price.  Lam  Kai  Oo  was  operating  such  an  oven, 
a  simple  affair  of  stones  cemented  with  mud,  over  which 
had  been  erected  a  shed  of  palm-trunks  and  thatch. 
The  halved  cocoanuts  were  placed  in  cups  made  of 
mud  and  laid  on  wooden  racks  above  the  oven.  With 
the  doors  closed,  a  fire  was  built  in  the  stone  furnace  and 
fed  from  the  outside  with  cocoa-husks  and  brush.  Such 
an  oven  does  not  dry  the  nuts  uniformly.  The  smoke 
turns  them  dark,  and  oil  made  from  them  contains  unde- 
desirable  creosote.  Hot-water  pipes  are  the  best  source 
of  heat,  except  the  sun,  but  Lam  Kai  Oo  was  paying 
again  for  his  poverty,  as  the  poor  man  must  do  the  world 
over. 

Forty-four  years  earlier  he  had  left  California,  after 
having  given  seven  years  of  his  life  to  building  American 
railways.  The  smoke  of  the  Civil  War  had  hardly 
cleared  away  when  Captain  Hart  had  persuaded  him, 
Ah  Yu  and  other  California  Chinese  to  come  to  Hiva- 
oa,  and  put  their  labor  into  his  cotton  plantations. 
Cannibalism  was  common  at  that  date.  I  asked  the  old 
man  if  he  had  witnessed  it. 

"My  see  plenty  fella  eatee,"  he  replied.  "Kanaka  no 
likee  Chineeman.  Him  speak  bad  meatee." 

He  told  me  how  on  one  occasion  the  Lord  had  saved 
him  from  drowning.  With  a  lay  brother  of  the  Catho- 
lic Mission,  he  had  been  en  route  to  Vait-hua  in  a  canoe 
with  many  natives.  There  was  to  be  a  church  feast,  and 
Lam  Kai  Oo  was  carrying  six  hundred  Chile  piastres  to 
back  his  skill  against  the  natives  in  gambling;  Lam,  of 
course,  to  operate  the  wheel  of  supposed  chance. 

The  boat  capsized  in  deep  water.  The  lay  brother 
could  not  swim,  but  was  lifted  to  the  keel  of  the  up- 


136  WHITE  SHADOWS 

turned  boat,  while  the  others  clung  to  its  edges.  He 
prayed  for  hours,  while  the  others,  lifting  their  faces 
above  the  storming  waves,  cried  hearty  amens  to  his 
supplications.  Finally  the  waves  washed  them  into 
shallow  water.  The  brother  gave  earnest  thanks  for  de- 
liverance, but  Lam  thought  that  the  same  magic  should 
give  him  back  the  six  hundred  pieces  of  silver  that  had 
gone  into  the  sea. 

"My  savee  plenty  Lord  helpee  you,"  said  he.  "Alice 
samee,  him  hell  to  live  when  poor.  Him  Lord  catchee 
Chile  money,  my  givee  fitty  dolla  churchee." 

He  sighed  despairingly,  and  fed  more  cocoa-husks  to 
his  make-shift  oven.  The  shower  had  passed,  moving 
in  a  gray  curtain  down  the  valley,  and  picking  my  way 
through  the  mire  of  the  yard,  I  followed  it  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

My  way  led  now  through  the  cocoanut-groves  that  day 
and  night  make  the  island  murmurous  with  their  rus- 
tling. They  are  good  company,  these  lofty,  graceful 
palms,  and  I  had  grown  to  feel  a  real  affection  for 
them,  such  as  a  man  has  for  his  dog.  Like  myself, 
they  can  not  live  and  flourish  long  unless  they  see  the 
ocean.  Their  habit  has  more  tangible  reason  than 
mine ;  they  are  dependent  on  air  and  water  for  life.  The 
greater  the  column  of  water  that  flows  daily  up  their 
stems  and  evaporates  from  the  leaves,  the  greater  the 
growth  and  productivity. 

Evaporation  being  in  large  measure  dependent  on 
free  circulation  of  air,  the  best  sites  for  cocoanut  planta- 
tions are  on  the  seashore,  exposed  to  the  winds.  They 
love  the  sea  and  will  grow  with  their  boles  dipped  at 
high  tide  in  the  salt  water. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  137 

These  trunks,  three  feet  in  diameter  at  the  base  and 
tapering  smoothly  and  perfectly  to  perhaps  twelve 
inches  at  the  top,  are  in  reality  no  more  than  pipes  for 
conveying  the  water  to  the  thirsty  fronds.  Cut  them 
open,  and  one  finds  a  vast  number  of  hollow  reeds,  held 
together  by  a  resinous  pitch  and  guarded  by  a  bark  both 
thick  and  exceedingly  hard.  There  is  no  branch  or  leaf 
except  at  the  very  tip  of  the  trunk,  where  a  symmetri- 
cal and  gigantic  bouquet  of  leaves  appears,  having 
plumes  a  dozen  feet  long  or  more,  that  nod  with  every 
zephyr  and  in  storms  sway  and  lash  the  tree  as  if  they 
were  living  things. 

I  used  to  wonder  why  these  great  leaves,  the  sport  of 
the  idlest  breeze  as  well  as  the  fiercest  gale,  were  not 
torn  from  the  tree,  but  when  I  learned  to  know  the  cocoa- 
nut  palm  as  a  dear  friend  I  found  that  nature  had  pro- 
vided for  its  survival  on  the  wind-swept  beaches  with 
the  same  exquisite  attention  to  individual  need  that  is 
shown  in  the  electric  batteries  and  lights  of  cer- 
tain fishes,  or  in  the  caprification  of  the  fig.  A  very 
fine,  but  strong,  matting,  attached  to  the  bark  beneath 
the  stalk,  fastened  half  way  around  the  tree  and  reach- 
ing three  feet  up  the  leaf,  fixes  it  firmly  to  the  trunk  but 
gives  it  ample  freedom  to  move.  It  is  a  natural  brace, 
pliable  and  elastic. 

There  is  scarcely  a  need  of  the  islander  not  supplied 
by  these  amiable  trees.  Their  wood  makes  the  best 
spars,  furnishes  rafters  and  pillars  for  native  houses, 
the  knee-  and  head-rests  of  their  beds,  rollers  for  the  big 
canoes  or  whale-boats,  fences  against  wild  pig,  and  fuel. 
The  leaves  make  screens  and  roofs  of  dwellings,  baskets, 
and  coverings,  and  in  the  pagan  temples  of  Tahiti  were 


138  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  rosaries  or  prayer-counters,  while  on  their  stiff 
stalks  the  candlenuts  are  strung  to  give  light  for  feasts 
or  for  feasting.  When  the  tree  is  young  the  network 
that  holds  the  leaves  is  a  beautiful  silver,  as  fine  as  India 
paper  and  glossy;  narrow  strips  of  it  are  used  as  hair 
ornaments  and  contrast  charmingly  with  the  black  and 
shining  locks  of  the  girls.  When  older,  this  matting 
has  every  appearance  of  coarse  cotton  cloth,  and  is  used 
to  wrap  food,  or  is  made  into  bags  and  even  rough  gar- 
ments, specially  for  fishermen. 

The  white  flowers  are  small  and  grow  along  a  branch- 
ing stalk,  protected  by  a  sheath,  and  just  above  the  com- 
mencement of  the  leaf.  From  them  is  made  the  cocoa- 
nut-brandy  that  enables  the  native  to  forget  his  sor- 
rows. Flowers  and  nuts  in  every  stage  of  development 
are  on  the  same  tree,  a  year  elapsing  between  the  first 
blossom  and  the  ripe  nut.  Long  before  it  is  ripe,  but 
after  full  size  has  been  attained,  the  nut  contains  a  pint 
or  even  a  quart  of  delicious  juice,  called  milk,  water,  or 
wine,  in  different  languages.  It  is  clear  as  spring 
water,  of  a  delicate  acidity,  yet  sweet,  and  no  idea  of  its 
taste  can  be  formed  from  the  half -rancid  fluid  in  the  ripe 
nuts  sold  in  Europe  or  America.  It  must  be  drunk 
soon  after  being  taken  from  the  tree  to  know  its  full 
delights,  and  must  have  been  gathered  at  the  stage  of 
growth  called  koie,  when  there  is  no  pulp  within  the 
shell. 

Not  long  after  this  time  the  pulp,  white  as  snow,  of 
the  consistency  and  appearance  of  the  white  of  a  soft- 
boiled  egg,  forms  in  a  thin  layer  about  the  walls  of  the 
nut.  This  is  a  delicious  food,  and  from  it  are  made 
many  dishes,  puddings,  and  cakes.  It  is  no  more  like 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  13d 

the  shredded  cocoanut  of  commerce  than  the  peach 
plucked  from  the  tree  is  like  the  tinned  fruit. 

The  pulp  hardens  and  thickens  as  time  goes  on,  and 
finally  is  an  inch  in  thickness.  Occasionally  the  meat 
when  hard  and  ripe  is  broiled  and  eaten.  I  like  it  fairly 
well  served  in  this  fashion. 

If  left  on  the  tree,  the  nut  will  in  time  fall,  and  in  due 
course  there  begins  in  it  a  marvelous  process  of  germina- 
tion. A  sweet,  whitish  sponge  forms  in  the  interior, 
starting  from  the  inner  end  of  the  seed  enclosed  in  the 
kernel,  opposite  one  of  the  three  eyes  in  the  smaller  end 
of  the  nut.  This  sponge  drinks  up  all  the  liquid,  and, 
filling  the  inside,  melts  the  hard  meat,  absorbs  it,  and 
turns  it  into  a  cellular  substance,  while  a  white  bud, 
hard  and  powerful,  pushes  its  way  through  one  of  the 
eyes  of  the  shell,  bores  through  several  inches  of  husk, 
and  reaches  the  air  and  light. 

This  bud  now  unfolds  green  leaves,  and  at  the  same 
period  two  other  buds,  beginning  at  the  same  point,  find 
their  way  to  the  two  other  eyes  and  pierce  them,  turning 
down  instead  of  up,  and  forcing  their  way  through  the 
former  husk  outside  the  shell,  enter  the  ground. 
Though  no  knife  could  cut  the  shell,  the  life  within 
bursts  it  open,  and  husk  and  shell  decay  and  fertilize 
the  soil  beside  the  new  roots,  which,  within  five  or  six 
years,  have  raised  a  tree  eight  or  nine  feet  high,  itself 
bearing  nuts  to  reproduce  their  kind  again. 

All  about  me  on  the  fertile  soil,  among  decaying 
leaves  and  luxuriant  vines,  I  saw  these  nuts,  carrying 
on  their  mysterious  and  powerful  life  in  the  unheeded 
forest  depths.  Here  and  there  a  half-domestic  pig  was 
harrying  one  with  thrusting  snout.  These  pigs,  which 


140  WHITE  SHADOWS 

we  think  stupid,  know  well  that  the  sun  will  the  sooner 
cause  a  sprouting  nut  to  break  open,  and  they  roll  the 
fallen  nut  into  the  sunlight  to  hasten  their  stomachs' 
gratification,  though  with  sufficient  labor  they  can  get 
to  the  meat  with  their  teeth. 

There  is  a  crab  here,  too,  that  could  teach  even  the 
wisest,  sun-employing  pig  some  tricks  in  economics. 
He  is  the  last  word  in  adaptation  to  environment,  with 
an  uncanny  knowledge  that  makes  the  uninformed  look 
askance  at  the  tale-teller.  These  crabs  climb  cocoanut- 
trees  to  procure  their  favorite  food.  They  dote  on 
cocoanuts,  the  ripe,  full-meated  sort.  They  are  able  to 
enjoy  them  by  various  endeavors  demanding  strength, 
cleverness,  an  apparent  understanding  of  the  effect  of 
striking  an  object  against  a  harder  one,  and  of  the  ve- 
locity caused  by  gravity.  Nuts  that  resist  their  at- 
tempts to  open  them,  they  carry  to  great  heights,  to 
drop  them  and  thus  break  their  shells. 

These  crabs  are  called  by  the  scientists  Birgos  latro, 
by  the  Marquesans  tupa,  by  the  Paumotans  kaveu,  and 
by  the  Tahitians,  ua  vahi  haari.  It  was  a  never-fail- 
ing entertainment  on  my  walks  in  the  Paumotas  to  ob- 
serve these  great  creatures,  light-brown  or  reddish  in 
color,  more  than  two  feet  in  length,  stalking  about  with 
their  bodies  a  foot  from  the  ground,  supported  by  two 
pairs  of  central  legs.  They  can  exist  at  least  twenty- 
four  hours  without  visiting  the  water,  of  which  they 
carry  a  supply  in  reservoirs  on  both  sides  of  the  cephalo- 
thorax,  keeping  their  gills  moist. 

They  live  in  large  deep  burrows  in  the  cocoanut- 
groves,  which  they  fill  with  husks,  so  that  the  natives 
often  rob  them  to  procure  a  quick  supply  of  fuel. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  141 

These  dens  are  contrived  for  speedy  entry  when  pur- 
sued. Terrifying  as  they  appear  when  surprised  on 
land,  they  scuttle  for  safety  either  to  a  hole  or  to  the 
sea,  with  an  agility  astounding  in  a  creature  so  awk- 
ward in  appearance.  Though  they  may  be  seen  about 
at  all  hours  of  the  day,  they  make  forays  upon  the 
cocoanuts  only  at  night. 

Darwin  first  saw  these  creatures  in  the  Indian  Ocean, 
and  said  that  they  seek  the  sea  every  night  to  moisten 
their  branchiae  The  young  are  hatched  and  live  for 
some  time  on  the  sea-coast,  venturing  far  from  water 
only  as  they  grow  older.  Darwin  said  that  their  feat 
in  entering  the  cocoanut  "is  as  curious  a  case  of  instinct 
as  was  ever  heard  of,  and  likewise  of  adaptation  in  struc- 
ture between  two  objects  apparently  so  remote  from 
each  other  in  the  scheme  of  nature,  as  a  crab  and  a  cocoa- 
nut-tree." 

When  darkness  descends  and  all  is  quiet,  the  robber 
crab  ascends  the  tree  by  gripping  the  bark  with  his 
claws.  The  rays  of  my  electric  flash-light  have  often 
caught  him  high  over  my  head  against  the  gray  palm. 
Height  does  not  daunt  him.  He  will  go  up  till  he 
reaches  the  nuts,  if  it  be  a  hundred  feet.  With  his 
powerful  nippers  he  severs  the  stem,  choosing  always 
a  nut  that  is  big  and  ripe.  Descending  the  palm,  he 
tears  off  the  fibrous  husk,  which,  at  first  thought,  it 
would  seem  impossible  for  him  to  do.  He  tears  it  fiber 
by  fiber,  and  always  from  that  end  under  which  the 
three  eye-holes  are  situated.  With  these  exposed,  he 
begins  hammering  on  one  of  them  until  he  has  enlarged 
the  opening  so  that  he  can  insert  one  of  the  sharp  points 
of  his  claw  into  it.  By  turning  his  claw  backward  and 


142  WHITE  SHADOWS 

forward  he  scoops  out  the  meat  and  regales  himself 
luxuriously. 

This  is  his  simplest  method,  along  the  line  of  least 
resistance,  but  let  the  nut  be  refractory,  and  he  seizes 
it  by  the  point  of  a  claw  and  beats  it  against  a  rock 
until  he  smashes  it.  This  plan  failing,  he  will  carry 
the  stubborn  nut  to  the  top  of  the  tree  again  and  hurl 
it  to  the  earth  to  crack  it.  And  if  at  first  he  does  not 
succeed,  he  will  make  other  trips  aloft  with  the  husked 
nut,  dropping  it  again  and  again  until  at  last  it  is  shat- 
tered and  lies  open  to  his  claws. 

It  is  said  that  if  a  drop  of  oil  be  placed  on  the  long 
and  delicate  antennae  of  these  crabs  they  die  almost  in- 
stantly. We  have  a  somewhat  similar  rumor  with  re- 
spect to  salt  and  a  bird's  tail.  Seldom  does  a  robber 
crab  linger  to  be  oiled,  and  so  other  means  of  destroy- 
ing him,  or,  at  least,  of  guarding  against  his  depreda- 
tions, are  sought.  With  the  rat,  who  bites  the  flower 
and  gnaws  the  young  nuts,  this  crab  is  the  principal 
enemy  of  the  planter.  The  tree  owner  who  can  afford 
it,  nails  sheets  of  tin  or  zinc  around  the  tree  a  dozen 
feet  from  the  earth.  Neither  rat  nor  crab  can  pass  this 
slippery  band,  which  gives  no  claw-hold.  Thousands 
of  trees  are  thus  protected,  but  usually  these  are  in  pos- 
session of  white  men,  for  tin  is  costly  and  the  native  is 
poor. 

The  ingenious  native,  however,  employs  another 
means  of  saving  the  fruit  of  his  groves.  He  climbs  the 
palm-trunk  in  the  daytime,  and  forty  feet  above  the 
ground  encircles  it  with  dirt  and  leaves.  On  his  mat 
for  the  night's  slumber,  he  smiles  to  think  of  the  revenge 
he  shall  have.  For  the  crab  ascends  and  passes  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  143 

puny  barrier  to  select  and  fell  his  nuts,  but  when  in 
his  backward  way  be  descends,  he  forgets  the  curious 
bunker  he  went  over  and,  striking  it  again,  thinks  he  has 
reached  the  ground.  He  lets  go,  and  smashes  on  the 
rocks  his  crafty  foe  has  piled  below. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Visit  of  Le  Moine;  the  story  of  Paul  Gauguin;  his  house,  and  a  search  for 
his  grave  beneath  the  white  cross  of  Calvary. 

I  ROSE  one  morning  from  my  Golden  Bed  to  find 
a  stranger  quietly  smoking  a  cigarette  on  my 
paepae.  Against  the  jungle  background  he  was 
a  strangely  incongruous  figure;  a  Frenchman,  small, 
thin,  meticulously  neat  in  garments  of  faded  blue  denim 
and  shining  high  boots.  His  blue  eyes  twinkled  above 
a  carefully  trimmed  beard,  and  as  he  rose  to  meet  me, 
I  observed  that  the  fingers  on  the  cigarette  were  long, 
slender,  and  nervous. 

This  was  Monsieur  Charles  le  Moine,  the  painter 
from  Vait-hua,  whose  studio  I  had  invaded  in  his  ab- 
sence from  that  delightful  isle.  We  sat  long  over 
breakfast  coffee  and  cigarettes,  I,  charmed  by  his  con- 
versation, he,  eager  to  hear  news  of  the  world  he  had 
forsaken.  He  had  studied  in  Paris,  been  governor  of 
the  Gambier  Islands,  and  at  last  had  made  his  final 
home  among  the  palms  and  orchids  of  these  forgotten 
isles.  His  life  had  narrowed  to  his  canvases,  on  which 
he  sought  to  interpret  Marquesan  atmosphere  and  char- 
acter, its  beauty  and  savage  lure. 

I  said  to  him  that  it  was  a  pity  many  great  painters 
did  not  come  here  to  put  on  canvas  the  fading  glamor 
and  charm  of  the  Marquesas. 

"Our  craft  is  too  poor,"  he  replied  with  a  sigh.  "A 
society  built  on  money  does  not  give  its  artists  and 
singers  the  freedom  they  had  in  the  old  days  in  these 

144 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  145 

islands,  my  friend.  We  are  bound  to  a  wheel  that 
turns  relentlessly.  Who  can  come  from  France  and 
live  here  without  money?  Me,  I  must  work  as  gen- 
darme and  school-teacher  to  be  able  to  paint  even  here. 
One  great  painter  did  live  in  this  valley,  and  died  here 
— Paul  Gauguin.  He  was  a  master,  my  friend!" 

"Paul  Gauguin  lived  here?"  I  exclaimed.  I  had 
known,  of  course,  that  the  great  modernist  had  died  in 
the  Marquesas,  but  I  had  never  heard  in  which  valley, 
and  no  one  in  Atuona  had  spoken  of  him.  In  Florence 
I  had  met  an  artist  who  possessed  two  glass  doors  taken 
from  Madame  Charbonnier's  house  and  said  to  have 
been  painted  by  Gauguin  in  payment  for  rent.  I  had 
been  in  Paris  when  all  artistic  France  was  shuddering 
or  going  into  ecstacies  over  Gauguin's  blazing  tropic 
work,  when  his  massive,  crude  figures  done  in  violent 
tones,  filled  with  sinister  power,  had  been  the  conver- 
sation of  galleries  and  saloons. 

Strindberg  wrote  of  Gauguin's  first  exhibition  and 
expressed  dislike  for  the  artist's  prepossession  with 
form,  and  for  the  savage  models  he  chose.  Gauguin's 
reply  was: 

"Your  civilization  is  your  disease;  my  barbarism  is 
my  restoration  to  health.  I  am  a  savage.  Every 
human  work  is  a  revelation  of  the  individual.  All  I 
have  learned  from  others  has  been  an  impediment  to 
me.  I  know  little,  but  what  I  do  know  is  my  own." 

Now  I  learned  from  the  lips  of  Le  Moine  that  this 
man  had  lived  and  died  in  my  own  valley  of  Atuona, 
had  perhaps  sat  on  this  paepae  where  we  were  break- 
fasting. Imagination  kindled  at  the  thought.  "I  will 
take  you  to  his  house,"  said  Le  Moine. 


146  WHITE  SHADOWS 

We  walked  down  the  road  past  the  governor's  palace 
until  opposite  Baufre's  depressing  abode,  where,  sev- 
eral hundred  yards  back  from  a  stone  wall,  sunk  in  the 
mire  of  the  swamp,  had  for  ten  years  been  Gauguin's 
home  and  studio.  Nothing  remained  of  it  but  a  few 
faint  traces  rapidly  disappearing  beneath  the  jungle 
growth. 

While  we  stood  in  the  shade  of  a  cocoanut-palm,  gaz- 
ing at  these,  we  were  joined  by  Baufre,  the  shaggy  and 
drink-ruined  Frenchman,  in  his  torn  and  dirty  overalls. 

"This  weather  is  devilish,"  said  Baufre,  with  a  curse. 
"It  is  not  as  it  used  to  be.  The  world  goes  to  the  devil. 
There  were  seven  hundred  people  in  Atuona  when  I 
came  here.  They  are  all  dead  but  two  hundred,  and 
there  is  nobody  to  help  me  in  my  plantation.  If  I  pay 
three  francs  a  day,  they  will  not  work.  If  I  pay  five 
francs,  they  will  not  work.  Suppose  I  give  them  rum? 
They  will  work  hard  for  that,  for  it  means  forgetting, 
but  when  they  drink  rum  they  cannot  work  at  all." 

"But  you  are  a  philosopher,  and  absinthe  or  rum  will 
cure  you,"  said  Le  Moine. 

ffMon  dieu!  I  am  not  a  philosopher!"  retorted 
Baufre.  "Of  what  good  is  that?  Gauguin  was  a 
philosopher,  and  he  is  dead  and  buried  on  Calvary. 
You  know  how  he  suffered?  His  feet  and  legs  were 
very  bad.  Every  day  he  had  to  tie  them  up.  He  could 
not  wear  shoes,  but  he  painted,  and  drank  absinthe,  and 
injected  the  morphine  into  his  belly,  and  painted. 

"Sapristi!  He  was  a  brave  one!  Am  I  not  here 
over  thirty  years,  and  have  I  met  a  man  like  Gauguin? 
He  never  worried.  He  painted.  The  dealer  in  Paris 
sent  him  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  and  he  gave  awiiy 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  147 

everything.  He  cared  only  for  paint.  And  now  he 
is  gone.  Regardez,  here  is  where  his  house  stood." 

We  walked  through  the  matted  grass  that  sketched 
upon  the  fertile  soil  the  shape  of  that  house  where 
Gauguin  had  painted. 

It  had  been  raised  from  the  marsh  six  feet  on  trunks 
of  trees,  and  was  about  forty-five  feet  long  and  twenty 
wide.  The  floor  was  of  planks,  and  one  climbed  a  stair- 
way to  reach  the  veranda.  The  frame  of  the  house  was 
of  wood,  but  the  sides  all  of  split  bamboo,  with  a  row 
of  windows  of  glass  and  a  roof  of  cocoanut  thatch.  The 
light  entered  from  the  north,  and  except  for  a  small 
chamber  for  sleeping  and  a  closet  for  provisions,  the 
entire  house  was  a  studio,  a  lofty,  breeze-swept  hall, 
the  windows  high  up  admitting  light,  but  not  the  hot 
sunshine,  and  the  expanse  of  bamboo  filtering  the  winds 
in  their  eternal  drift  from  south  to  north  and  north  to 
south. 

Below  the  floor,  on  the  ground,  was  a  room  for  work 
in  sculpture,  in  which  medium  Gauguin  took  much  in- 
terest, using  clay  and  wood,  the  latter  both  for  bas- 
relief  and  full  relief,  Gauguin  being  hampered,  Baufre 
said,  by  lack  of  plasticity  in  the  native  clay.  Next  to 
this  workroom  was  a  shelter  for  the  horse  and  cart,  for 
Gauguin  had  the  only  wheeled  vehicle  in  the  Marquesas. 

Baufre  exhausted  all  his  rhetoric  and  used  four  sheets 
of  foolscap  in  his  endeavor  to  make  me  see  these  sur- 
roundings of  the  artist,  whom  he  evidently  considered 
a  great  man. 

"Five  hundred  francs  a  month,  mon  ami,  whether  he 
painted  or  not!  But  he  was  a  worker.  Drunk  or 
sober,  he  would  paint.  Oui,  I  have  seen  him  with  a 


148  WHITE  SHADOWS 

bottle  of  absinthe  in  him,  and  still  he  would  paint. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  was  at  work  at  his  easel  in  the 
studio  or  under  the  trees,  and  every  day  he  painted  till 
the  light  was  gone.  His  only  use  for  the  cart  was  to 
carry  him  and  his  easel  and  chair  to  scenes  he  would 
paint.  He  would  shoot  that  accursed  morphine  into 
his  belly  when  the  pain  was  too  bad,  and  he  would  drink 
wine  and  talk  and  paint. 

"He  had  no  wife  or  woman,  but  he  took  one  in  the 
way  of  the  white  man  here  now  and  then.  He  lived 
alone,  save  for  a  half-Chinese  boy  who  cooked  and 
cleaned  for  him.  He  never  said  he  was  sick.  There 
was  no  doctor  on  this  island,  for  the  government  was 
then  at  Nuka-hiva,  and  he  had  no  time  to  go  there. 
He  suffered  terribly,  but  he  never  complained.  'Life 
is  short,'  he  would  say,  'and  there  is  not  long  to  paint.' 

"He  would  not  talk  politics,  but  after  the  light  was 
gone  he  would  sit  at  the  organ  in  his  studio  and  make 
one  cry  with  his  music.  When  at  home  he  wore  only 
a  pareu,  but  he  would  put  on  trousers  when  he  went 
out.  He  worked  and  drank  and  injected  his  morphine, 
and  one  morning  when  the  boy  came  he  found  him  dead, 
and  he  was  smiling. 

"The  government  hated  him  because  he  cursed  it  for 
not  letting  the  natives  keep  their  customs.  The  church 
hated  him  because  he  ridiculed  it.  Still,  they  buried 
him  in  the  Catholic  cemetery.  I  went  with  the  body, 
and  four  Marquesans  carried  it  up  the  trail. 

"The  government  sold  his  house  to  Gedge,  and  Gedge 
sold  it  to  a  native,  who  tore  it  down  for  the  materials. 
It  was  of  no  use  to  any  one,  for  it  was  built  for  an 
artist. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  149 

cVous  savez,  mon  garfon,  I  am  not  acquainted  with 
pictures,  and  have  never  seen  any  but  his,  but  I  felt 
that  they  were  good.  They  made  one  feel  the  sun. 
There  was  in  them  the  soul  of  these  islands.  And  you 
know  that  Polonaise,  with  the  one  eye-glass,  that  lives  . 
in  Papeite,  that  Krajewsky?  Eh  bien!  he  was  here  to 
buy  these  stone  images  of  gods,  and  he  said  that  in  Paris 
they  were  paying  tens  of  thousands  of  francs  for  those 
things  of  Gauguin's  he  would  have  given  me  for  the 
asking.  Ah  well!  he  had  the  head  and  he  was  a  phi- 
losopher, but  he  lies  up  there  in  Calvary." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Le  Moine. 

"Mon  ami"  said  the  shaggy  man,  "I  go  to  church, 
and  you  and  I  and  Gauguin  are  the  same  kind  of  Catho- 
lic. We  don't  do  what  we  pray  for.  That  man  was 
smarter  than  you  or  me,  and  the  good  God  will  forgive 
him  whatever  he  did.  He  paid  everybody,  and  Chas- 
sognal  of  Papeite  found  seven  hundred  francs  in  a  book 
where  he  had  carelessly  laid  it.  If  he  drank,  he  shared 
it,  and  he  paid  his  women." 

"He  was  an  atheist,"  persisted  Le  Moine. 

"Atheist!"  echoed  Baufre.  "He  believed  in  making 
beautiful  pictures,  and  he  was  not  afraid  of  God  or  of 
the  mission.  How  do  you  know  what  God  likes? 
Mathieu  Scallamera  built  the  church  here  and  the  mis- 
sion houses,  and  he  is  dead,  and  all  his  family  are  lepers. 
Did  God  do  that?  Non!  Non!  You  and  I  know 
nothing  about  that.  You  like  to  drink.  Your  woman 
is  tattooed,  and  we  are  both  men  and  bad.  Come  and 
have  a  drink?" 

We  left  him  beside  the  road  and  walked  slowly  be- 
neath the  arch  of  trees  toward  the  mountain  whose 


150  WHITE  SHADOWS 

summit  was  crowned  by  the  white  cross  of  Calvary 
graveyard. 

"He  drank  too  much,  he  took  morphine,  he  was  mor- 
tally ill,  and  yet  he  painted.  Those  chaps  who  have  to 
have  leisure  and  sandal-wood  censors  might  learn  from 
that  man,"  said  Le  Moine.  "He  was  a  pagan  and  he 
saw  nature  with  the  eyes  of  a  pagan  god,  and  he  painted 
it  as  he  saw  it." 

I  reminded  him  of  James  Huneker's  words  about 
Gauguin:  "He  is  yet  for  the  majority,  though  he  may 
be  the  Paint  God  of  the  Twentieth  century.  Paint 
was  his  passion.  With  all  his  realism,  he  was  a  sym- 
bolist, a  master  of  decoration." 

Past  the  governor's  mansion,  we  turned  sharply  up 
the  hill.  Apart  from  all  other  dwellings,  on  a  knoll, 
stood  a  Marquesan  house.  As  we  followed  the  steep 
trail  past  it,  I  called,  "Kaoha!" 

"I  hea?"  said  a  woman,  "Karavario?  Where  do  you 
go?  To  Calvary?" 

There  was  a  sad  astonishment  in  her  tone,  that  we 
should  make  the  arduous  climb  to  the  cemetery  where 
no  dead  of  ours  lay  interred. 

A  fairly  broad  trail  wound  about  the  hill,  the  trail 
over  which  the  dead  and  the  mourners  go,  and  the  way 
was  through  a  vast  cocoanut-orchard,  the  trees  planted 
with  absolute  regularity  lifting  their  waving  fronds 
seventy  or  eighty  feet  above  the  earth.  There  was  no 
underbrush  between  the  tall  gray  columns  of  the  palms, 
only  a  twisted  vegetation  covered  the  ground,  and  the 
red  volcanic  soil  of  the  trail,  cutting  through  the  green, 
was  like  a  smear  of  blood. 

The  road  was  long  and  hot.     Halting  near  the  sum- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  151 

mit,  we  looked  upward,  and  I  was  struck  with  emotion 
as  when  in  the  courtyard  I  saw  the  group  of  the  cruci- 
fixion. A  cross  forty  feet  high,  with  a  Christ  nailed 
upon  it,  all  snow-white,  stood  up  against  the  deep  blue 
sky.  It  was  like  a  note  of  organ  music  in  the  great 
gray  cathedral  of  the  palms. 

Another  forty  minutes  climbing  brought  us  to  the 
foot  of  the  white  symbol.  A  half -acre  within  white- 
washed palings,  like  any  country  graveyard,  lay  on  the 
summit  of  the  mountain. 

To  find  Gauguin's  grave  we  began  at  the  entrance 
and  searched  row  by  row.  The  graves  were  those  of 
natives,  mounds  marked  by  small  stones  along  the  sides, 
with  crosses  of  rusted  iron  filigree  showing  skulls  and 
other  symbols  of  death,  and  a  name  painted  in  white, 
mildewing  away.  Farther  on  were  tombs  of  stone  and 
cement,  primitive  and  massive,  defying  the  elements. 
Upon  one  was  graven,  rfCi  Git  Daniel  Vaimai,  Kata- 
kita,  1867-1907.  R.I.P."  The  grave  of  a  catechist,  a 
native  assistant  to  the  priests.  Beneath  another  lay 
"August  Jorss,"  he  who  had  ordered  the  Golden  Bed 
in  which  I  slept.  Most  conspicuous  of  all  was  a  mauso- 
leum surrounded  by  a  high,  black,  iron  railing  brought 
from  France.  On  this  I  climbed  to  read  while  perched 
on  the  points: 

" Id  repose  Mg.  Illustrissime  et  Reverendissime  Rog. 
Jh.  Martin,"  and  much  more  in  Latin  and  French.  It 
was  the  imposing  grave  of  the  Bishop  of  Uranopolis, 
vicar-apostolic  to  the  Marquesas,  predecessor  to  Bishop 
le  Cadre,  who  had  no  pride  and  whom  all  called  plain 
Father  David. 

Suddenly  rain  poured  down  upon  us,  and  looking 


152  WHITE  SHADOWS 

about  to  find  a  shelter  we  saw  a  straw  penthouse  over  a 
new  and  empty  grave  lined  with  stones.  We  huddled 
beneath  it,  our  faces  toward  the  sea,  and  while  the  heavy 
rain  splashed  above  our  heads  and  water  rushed  down 
the  slope,  we  gazed  in  silence  at  the  magnificent  pano- 
rama below. 

We  were  directly  above  the  Bay  of  Traitors,  that 
arm  of  the  sea  which  curved  into  the  little  bays  of  Taka- 
Uka  and  Atuona.  At  one  side,  a  mere  pinnacle 
through  the  vapor  about  his  throat,  rose  the  rugged 
head  of  Temetiu,  and  ranged  below  him  the  black  fast- 
nesses of  the  valleys  he  commands.  In  the  foreground 
the  cocoas,  from  the  rocky  headlands  to  the  gate  of 
Calvary,  stood  like  an  army  bearing  palms  of  victory. 
In  rows  and  circles,  plats  and  masses,  the  gray  trunks 
followed  one  another  from  sea  to  mountain,  yielding 
themselves  to  the  storm,  swaying  gently,  and  by  some 
trick  of  wind  and  rain  seeming  to  march  toward  the 
cross-crowned  summit. 

The  flimsy  thatch  under  which  we  crouched,  put  up 
only  to  keep  the  sun  from  the  grave-digger,  bent  to 
north  and  south,  and  threatened  to  wing  away.  But 
suddenly  the  shower  ran  away  in  a  minute,  as  if  it  had 
an  engagement  elsewhere,  and  the  sun  shone  more 
brightly  in  the  rain-washed  air. 

We  continued  our  search,  but  uselessly.  Hohine  and 
Mupui  had  advertisement  of  their  last  mortal  residence, 
but  not  Gauguin.  We  found  an  earring  on  one  little 
tomb  where  a  mother  had  laid  her  child,  and  on  several 
those  couronnes  des  perles,  stiff,  ugly  wreaths  brought 
from  France,  with  "Sincere  Regrets"  in  raised  beads, 
speaking  pityfully  of  the  longing  of  the  simple  islanders 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  153 

to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of  their  loved  ones.  But 
the  grave  of  Gauguin,  the  great  painter,  was  unmarked. 
If  a  board  had  been  placed  at  its  head  when  he  was 
buried,  it  had  rotted  away,  and  nothing  was  left  to  indi- 
cate where  he  was  lying. 

The  hibiscus  was  blood-red  on  the  sunken  graves,  and 
cocoanuts  sprouted  in  the  tangled  grass.  Palms  shut 
out  from  the  half -acre  had  dropped  their  nuts  within 
it,  and  the  soil,  rich  in  the  ashes  of  man,  was  endeavoring 
to  bring  forth  fairer  fruit  than  headstones  and  iron 
crosses.  The  pahue,  a  lovely,  long,  creeping  vine  that 
wanders  on  the  beaches  to  the  edge  of  the  tides,  had 
crawled  over  many  graves,  and  its  flowers,  like  morning- 
glories,  hung  their  purple  bells  on  the  humbler  spots 
that  no  hand  sought  to  clear. 

Perhaps  under  these  is  the  dust  of  the  painter  who, 
more  than  any  other  man,  made  the  Marquesas  known 
to  the  world  of  Europe. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Death  of  Aumia;  funeral  chant  and  burial  customs;  causes  for  the  death 
of  a  race. 

ON  the  paepae  of  a  poor  cabin  near  my  own  lived 
two  women,  Aumia  and  Taipi,  in  the  last 
stages  of  consumption.  Aumia  had  been,  only 
a  few  months  earlier,  the  beauty  of  the  island. 

"She  was  one  of  the  gayest,"  said  Haabunai,  "but 
the  pokoko  has  taken  her." 

She  was  pitifully  thin  when  I  first  saw  her,  lying  all 
day  on  a  heap  of  mats,  with  Taipi  beside  her,  both 
coughing,  coughing.  An  epidemic  of  colds  had  seized 
Atuona,  brought,  most  probably,  by  the  schooner 
Papeite,  for  no  other  had  arrived  since  the  Morning 
Star.  Aumia  coughed  at  night,  her  neighbor  took  it 
up,  and  then,  like  laughter  in  a  school,  it  became  im- 
possible to  resist,  and  down  to  the  beach  and  up  to  the 
heights  the  valley  echoed  with  the  distressing  sounds. 
So,  a  breadfruit  season  ago,  had  Aumia  coughed  for 
the  first  time,  and  the  way  she  was  going  would  be 
followed  by  many  of  my  neighbors. 

I  stopped  every  day  to  chat  a  moment  with  Aumia, 
and  to  bring  her  the  jam  or  marmalade  she  liked,  and 
was  too  poor  to  buy  from  the  trader's  store.  She  asked 
me  this  day  if  I  had  seen  her  grave.  She  had  heard 
I  had  visited  the  cemetery,  and  I  must  describe  it  to 
her.  It  was  the  grave  over  which  Le  Moine  and  I 
had  crouched  from  the  storm. 

154 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  155 

Aumia's  husband  and  Haabunai,  with  Great  Fern, 
had  dug  it  and  paved  it  a  couple  of  days  ago,  and  her 
husband  had  given  the  others  a  pig  for  their  work, 
slaughtering  it  on  the  tomb  of  the  Bishop  of  Uranopolis. 
No  thought  of  profanation  had  entered  their  minds; 
it  was  convenient  to  lay  the  pig  over  the  imposing  monu- 
ment, with  a  man  on  either  side  holding  the  beast  and 
the  butcher  free-handed.  The  carcass  had  been  de- 
nuded of  hair  in  a  pail  of  hot  water  and  buried  under- 
ground with  fire  below  and  above  him.  When  the  meat 
was  well  done,  I  had  a  portion  of  it,  and  Sister  Sera- 
poline,  who  had  come  in  her  black  nun's  habit  to  console 
Aumia  with  the  promises  of  the  church,  ate  with  us, 
and  accepted  a  haunch  for  the  nun's  house. 

"Aumia  is  able  to  eat  pig,  and  yet  they  have  made 
her  grave,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  c'est  fa!"  replied  the  nun,  holding  the  haunch 
carefully.  "That  is  the  custom.  Always  they  used  to 
dig  them  near  the  house,  so  that  the  sick  person  might 
see  the  grave,  and  in  its  digging  the  sick  had  much  to 
say,  and  enjoyed  it.  Now,  grace  a  dieu!  if  Catholics, 
they  are  buried  in  consecrated  ground  where  the  body 
may  rest  serene  until  the  trumpet  sounds  the  final  judg- 
ment. Death  is  terrible,  but  these  Marquesans  make 
no  more  of  it  than  of  a  journey  to  another  island,  and 
much  less  than  of  a  voyage  to  Tahiti.  They  die  as 
peacefully  as  a  good  Catholic  who  is  sure  of  his  crown 
in  Heaven.  And  as  they  are  children,  only  children, 
the  wisest  or  the  worst  of  them,  the  Good  God  will  know 
how  to  count  their  sins.  It  is  those  who  scandalize 
them  who  shall  pay  dear,  those  wicked  whites  who  have 
forsaken  God,  or  who  worship  him  in  false  temples." 


156  WHITE  SHADOWS 

The  coffin  of  Aumia  was  then  beside  the  house,  turned 
over  so  that  rain  might  not  make  it  unpresentable.  She 
had  asked  for  it  weeks  before.  To  the  Marquesan  his 
coffin  is  as  important  as,  to  us,  the  house  the  newly- 
married  pair  are  to  live  in.  These  people  know  that 
almost  every  foot  of  their  land  holds  the  bones  or  dust 
of  a  corpse,  and  this  remnant  of  a  race,  overwhelmed 
by  tragedy,  can  look  on  death  only  as  a  relief  from  the 
oppression  of  alien  and  unsympathetic  white  men. 
They  go  to  the  land  of  the  tupapaus  as  calmly  as  to 
sleep. 

"I  have  never  seen  a  Marquesan  afraid  to  die,"  said 
Sister  Serapoline.  "I  have  been  at  the  side  of  many  in 
their  last  moments.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  die,  but 
they  have  no  fear  at  all." 

The  husband  of  Aumia,  a  jolly  fellow  of  thirty,  was 
practising  on  a  drum  for  the  entertainment  of  his  wife. 
He  said  that  the  corpse  of  his  grandfather,  a  chief,  had 
been  oiled  and  kept  about  the  house  until  it  became 
mummified.  This,  he  said,  had  been  quite  the  custom. 
The  body  was  washed  very  thoroughly,  and  rubbed  with 
cocoanut-oil.  It  was  laid  in  the  sun,  and  members  of 
the  family  appointed  to  turn  it  many  times  a  day,  so 
that  all  parts  might  be  subjected  to  an  even  heat.  The 
anointing  with  oil  was  repeated  several  times  daily. 
Weeks  or  months  of  this  process  reduced  the  corpse 
to  a  mummified  condition,  and  if  it  were  the  body  of 
a  chief  it  was  then  put  in  his  canoe  and  kept  for  years 
in  a  ceremonial  way.  But  no  mark  was  ever  placed 
to  show  where  the  dead  were  buried,  and  there  were 
no  funeral  ceremonies.  Better  that  none  knew  where 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  157 

the  body  was  laid  and  that  the  chosen  friends  who  car- 
ried it  to  the  sepulchre  forgot  the  spot. 

In  the  very  old  days  the  Marquesans  interred  the 
dead  secretly  in  the  night  at  the  foot  of  great  trees. 
Or  they  carried  the  bodies  to  the  mountains  and  in  a 
rocky  hole  shaded  by  trees  covered  them  over  and  made 
the  grave  as  much  as  possible  like  the  surrounding  soil. 
The  secret  of  the  burial-place  was  kept  inviolate. 
Aumia's  husband  related  an  instance  of  a  man  who  in 
the  darkest  night  climbed  a  supposedly  inaccessible 
precipice  carrying  the  body  of  his  young  wife  lashed 
to  his  back,  to  place  it  carefully  on  a  lofty  shelf  and 
descend  safely. 

These  precautions  came  probably  from  a  fear  of  prof- 
anation of  the  dead,  perhaps  of  their  being  eaten  by  a 
victorious  enemy.  To  devastate  the  cemeteries  and 
temples  of  the  foe  was  an  aim  of  every  invading  tribe. 
It  was  considered  that  mutilating  a  corpse  injured  the 
soul  that  had  fled  from  it. 

Afraid  of  no  living  enemy  nor  of  the  sea,  meeting 
the  shark  in  his  own  element  and  worsting  him,  fear- 
lessly enduring  the  thrust  of  the  fatal  spear  when  an 
accident  of  battle  left  him  defenseless,  the  Marquesan 
warrior,  as  much  as  the  youngest  child,  had  an  unut- 
terable horror  of  their  own  dead  and  of  burial-places, 
as  of  the  demons  who  hovered  about  them. 

Christianity  has  made  no  change  in  this,  for  it,  too. 
is  encumbered  with  such  fears.  Who  of  us  but  dreads 
to  pass  a  graveyard  at  night,  though  even  to  ourselves 
we  deny  the  fear?  Banshees,  werwolves  and  devils,  the 
blessed  candles  lit  to  keep  away  the  Evil  One,  or  even 


158  WHITE  SHADOWS 

to  guard  against  wandering  souls  on  certain  feasts  of 
the  dead,  were  all  part  of  my  childhood.  So  to  the 
Marquesan  are  the  goblins  that  cause  him  to  refuse  to 
go  into  silent  places  alone  at  night,  and  often  make 
him  cower  in  fear  on  his  own  mats,  a  pareu  over  his  head, 
in  terror  of  the  unknown. 

But  death  when  it  comes  to  him  now  is  nothing,  or  it 
is  a  going  to  sleep  at  the  end  of  a  sad  day.  Aumia,  eat- 
ing her  burial  meats  and  looking  with  pleasure  at  her 
coffin,  carefully  and  beautifully  built  by  her  husband's 
hands,  smiled  at  me  as  serenely  as  a  child.  But  the 
melancholy  sound  of  her  coughing  followed  me  up  the 
trail  to  the  House  of  the  Golden  Bed. 

It  was  barely  daylight  next  morning  when  I  awoke, 
a  soft,  delicious  air  stirring  the  breadfruit  leaves.  I 
plunged  into  the  river,  and  returning  to  my  house  was 
about  to  dress — that  is,  to  put  on  my  pareu — when  a 
shriek  arose  from  the  forest.  It  was  sudden,  sharp,  and 
agonizing. 

"Aumia  mate  i  havaii"  said  Exploding  Eggs,  ap- 
proaching to  build  the  fire.  Literally  he  said,  "Aumia 
is  dead  and  gone  below,"  for  the  Marquesans  locate  the 
spirit  world  below  the  earth's  surface,  as  they  do  the  soul 
below  the  belt. 

The  wailing  was  accompanied  shortly  by  a  sound  of 
hammering  on  boards. 

"The  corpse  goes  into  the  coffin,"  said  Exploding 
Eggs.  The  first  nail  had  been  driven  but  a  moment 
after  Aumia's  last  breath. 

All  day  the  neighborhood  was  melancholy  with 
the  cries  from  the  house.  All  the  lamentations  were  in 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  159 

a  certain  tone,  as  if  struck  from  the  same  instrument 
by  the  hand  of  sorrow.  Each  visitor  to  the  house 
shrieked  in  the  same  manner,  and  all  present  accom- 
panied her,  so  that  for  ten  minutes  after  each  new 
mourner  arrived  a  chorus  of  loud  wails  and  moans  as- 
sailed my  ears.  I  had  never  known  such  a  heart-rend- 
ing exhibition  of  grief. 

But  the  sorrow  of  these  friends  of  Aumia  was  not 
genuine.  It  could  not  be ;  it  was  too  dramatic.  When 
they  left  the  house  the  mourners  laughed  and  lit  ciga- 
rettes and  pipes.  If  no  new  visitor  came  they  fell  to 
chatting  and  smoking,  but  the  sight  of  a  fresh  and  un- 
harrowed  person  started  them  off  again  in  their  me- 
chanical, though  nerve-racking,  cry. 

I  had  known  Aumia  well,  and  at  noon,  desiring  to  ob- 
serve the  proprieties,  I  stepped  upon  the  paepae  of  her 
home. 

"She  loved  the  MemkeT  shouted  the  old  women  in 
chorus,  and  they  threw  themselves  upon  me  and  smelt 
me  and  made  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  the  dead's  hus- 
bands. The  followed  me  up  the  trail  to  my  cabin  and 
sat  on  my  paepae  wailing  and  shrieking.  It  was  some 
time  before  I  realized  that  their  poignant  sorrow  should 
force  consolation  from  me.  There  was  not  a  moan  as 
the  rum  went  round. 

I  had  puzzled  at  the  exact  repetition  of  their  plaint. 
Harrowing  as  it  was,  the  sounds  were  almost  like  a  reci- 
tation of  the  alphabet.  A  woman  who  had  adopted  me 
as  her  nephew  said  they  called  it  the  ffUe  haaneinei." 
That,  literally,  is  "to  make  a  weeping  on  the  side." 
The  etiquette  of  it  was  intricate  and  precise.  Each 


160  WHITE  SHADOWS 

vowel  was  memorized  with  exactness.  It  ran,  as  my 
adopted  aunt  repeated  it  over  her  shell  of  consolation, 
thus: 

"Ke  ke  ke  ke  ke  ke  ke  ke  ke! 
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa! 
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee! 
liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! 
Ooooooooooooooo! 
Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!" 

To  omit  a  vowel,  to  say  too  many,  or  to  mix  their 
order,  would  be  disrespect  to  the  spirit  of  the  dead,  and 
a  reflection  on  the  mourner.  Nine  times  the  "ke,"  four- 
teen "a's,"  fifteen  "e's,"  eighteen  "i's"  and  fifteen  "o's" 
and  "u's." 

Aumia  was  carried  to  Calvary  in  the  afternoon  anil 
put  in  the  grave  for  which  the  pig  had  been  paid.  So 
strongly  did  the  old  feeling  still  prevail  that  only  three 
or  four  of  her  friends  could  be  persuaded  by  the  nuns  to 
accompany  the  coffin  up  the  trail. 

Exploding  Egg's  consignment  of  Aumia  to  Havaii, 
the  underworld,  spoke  strongly  of  the  clinging  of  his 
people  to  their  old  beliefs  in  the  destiny  of  the  spirit 
after  death.  They  share  with  the  Ainos  of  Japan — a 
people  to  which  they  have  many  likenesses,  being  of  the 
same  division  of  man — a  faith  in  a  subterranean  future. 

Does  not  Socrates,  in  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  often 
speak  of  "going  to  the  world  below,"  where  he  hopes  to 
find  real  wisdom? 

Havaii  or  Havaiki  is,  of  course,  the  fabled  place 
whence  came  the  Polynesians,  as  it  is  also  the  name  of 
that  underworld  to  which  their  spirits  return  after 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  161 

death.  One  might  read  into  this  fact  a  dim  groping  of 
the  Marquesan  mind  toward  "From  dust  he  came,  to 
dust  returneth,"  or,  more  likely,  a  longing  of  the  exiled 
people  for  the  old  home  they  had  abandoned.  Ethnolo- 
gists believe  that  the  name  refers  to  Java,  the  tarrying- 
point  of  the  great  migration  of  Caucasians  from  South 
Asia  toward  Polynesia  and  New  Zealand,  or  to  Savaii, 
a  Samoan  island  whence  the  emigrants  later  dispersed. 

Whatever  the  origin  of  the  word,  to-day  it  conveys 
to  the  Marquesan  mind  only  that  vague  region  where 
the  dead  go.  In  it  there  is  no  suffering,  either  for  good 
or  bad  souls.  It  is  simply  the  place  where  the  dead  go. 
It  is  ruled  by  Po,  the  Darkness. 

There  is,  however,  a  paradise  in  an  island  in  the 
clouds,  where  beautiful  girls  and  great  bowls  of  kava, 
with  pigs  roasted  to  a  turn,  await  the  good  and  brave. 
The  old  priests  claimed  to  be  able  to  help  one  from  Po 
to  this  happy  abode,  but  the  living  relatives  of  the  de- 
parted spirit  had  to  pay  a  heavy  price  for  their  services. 
The  Christianized  Marquesan  fancies  that  he  finds  these 
old  beliefs  revived  when  Pere  David  tells  him  of  purga- 
tory, from  which  prayers  and  certain  good  acts  help 
one's  friends,  or  may  be  laid  up  in  advance  against  the 
day  when  one  must  himself  descend  to  that  middle  state 
of  souls. 

All  Marquesans  live  in  the  shadow  of  that  day.  They 
see  it  without  fear,  but  with  a  melancholy  so  tragic  and 
deep  that  the  sorrow  of  it  is  indescribable. 

"I  have  seen  many  go  as  Aumia  has  gone,"  said 
Father  David  to  me.  "All  these  lovable  races  are  dy- 
ing. All  Polynesia  is  passing.  Some  day  the  whites 


162  WHITE  SHADOWS 

here  will  be  left  alone  amid  the  ruins  of  plantations  and 
houses,  unless  they  bring  in  an  alien  race  to  take  the 
places  of  the  dead." 

A  hundred  years  ago  there  were  a  hundred  and  sixty 
thousand  Marquesans  in  these  islands.  Twenty  years 
ago  there  were  four  thousand.  To-day  I  am  con- 
vinced that  there  remain  not  twenty-one  hundred. 

A  century  ago  an  American  naval  captain  reckoned 
nineteen  thousand  fighting  men  on  the  island  of  Nuka- 
hiva  alone.  In  a  valley  where  three  thousand  warriors 
opposed  him,  there  are  to-day  four  adults.  I  visited 
Hanamate,  an  hour  from  Atuona,  where  fifty  years 
ago  hundreds  of  natives  lived.  Not  one  survived  to 
greet  me. 

Consumption  came  first  to  Hanavave,  on  the  island 
of  Fatu-hiva.  One  of  the  tribe  of  merciless  American 
whaling  captains  having  sent  ashore  a  sailor  dying  of 
tuberculosis,  the  tattooed  cannibals  received  him  in  a 
Christ-like  manner,  soothed  his  last  hours,  and  breathed 
the  germs  that  have  carried  off  more  than  four-fifths  of 
their  race,  and  to-day  are  killing  the  remnant. 

The  white  man  brought  the  Chinese,  and  with  them 
leprosy.  The  Chinese  were  imported  to  aid  the  white 
in  stealing  the  native  land  of  the  Marquesan,  and  to 
keep  the  Chinese  contented,  opium  was  brought  with 
him.  Finding  it  eagerly  craved  by  the  ignorant  native, 
the  foolish  white  fastened  this  vice  also  upon  his  other 
desired  slave.  The  French  Government,  for  forty 
thousand  francs,  licensed  an  opium  farmer  to  sell  the 
drug  still  faster,  and  not  until  alarmed  by  the  results 
and  shamed  by  the  outcry  in  Europe,  did  it  forbid  the 
devastating  narcotic.  Too  late! 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  163 

Smallpox  came  with  a  Peruvian  slave-ship  that  stole 
thousands  of  the  islanders  and  carried  them  off  to  work 
out  their  lives  for  the  white  in  his  own  country.  This 
ship  left  another  more  dread  disease,  which  raged  in  the 
islands  as  a  virulent  epidemic,  instead  of  running  the 
slow  chronic  course  it  does  nowadays  when  all  the  world 
has  been  poisoned  by  it. 

The  healthy  Marquesans  had  no  anti-toxins  in  their 
pure  blood  to  overcome  the  diseases  which  with  us,  hard- 
ened Europeans  and  descendants  of  Europeans,  are 
not  deadly.  Here  they  raged  and  destroyed  hundreds 
in  a  few  days  or  weeks. 

The  survivors  of  these  pestilences,  seeing  their  homes 
and  villages  desolated,  their  friends  dying,  their  peo- 
ple perishing,  supposed  that  these  curses  were  inflicted 
upon  them  by  the  God  of  the  foreigners  and  by  the  mis- 
sionaries, who  said  that  they  were  his  servant.  In  their 
misery,  they  not  only  refused  to  listen  to  the  gospels, 
but  accused  the  missionaries  in  prayer  before  their  own 
god,  begging  to  be  saved  from  them.  Often  when  the 
missionaries  appeared  to  speak  to  the  people,  the  de- 
formed and  dying  were  brought  out  and  laid  in  rows  be- 
fore them,  as  evidences  of  the  evilness  and  cruelty  of 
their  white  god. 

But  after  one  has  advanced  all  tangible  reasons  and 
causes  for  the  depopulation  of  the  Marquesas,  there  re- 
mains another,  mysterious,  intangible,  but  it  may  be, 
more  potent  than  the  others.  The  coming  of  the  white 
has  been  deadly  to  all  copper-colored  races  everywhere 
in  the  world.  The  black,  the  yellow,  the  Malay,  the 
Asiatic  and  the  negro  flourish  beside  the  white;  the 
Polynesian  and  the  red  races  of  America  perished  or  are 


164  WHITE  SHADOWS 

going  fast.  The  numbers  of  those  dead  from  war  and 
epidemics  leave  still  lacking  the  full  explanation  of  the 
fearful  facts.  Seek  as  far  as  you  will,  pile  up  figures 
and  causes  and  prove  them  correct;  there  still  remains 
to  take  into  account  the  shadow  of  the  white  on  the  red. 
Prescott  says : 

The  American  Indian  has  something  peculiarly  sensitive  in 
his  nature.  He  shrinks  instinctively  from  the  rude  touch  of  a 
foreign  hand.  Even  when  this  foreign  influence  comes  in  the 
form  of  civilization,  he  seems  to  sink  and  pine  under  it.  It  has 
been  so  with  the  Mexicans.  Under  the  Spanish  domination 
their  numbers  have  silently  melted  away.  Their  energies  are 
broken.  They  live  under  a  better  system  of  laws,  a  more 
assured  tranquillity,  a  purer  faith.  But  all  does  not  avail. 
Their  civilization  was  of  the  hardy  character  that  belongs  to 
the  wilderness.  Their  hardy  virtues  were  all  their  own.  They 
refused  to  submit  to  European  culture — to  be  engrafted  on  a 
foreign  stock. 

Free!  Understand  that  well,  it  is  the  deep  commandment, 
dimmer  or  clearer,  of  our  whole  being,  to  be  free.  Freedom  is 
the  one  purpose,  wisely  aimed  at  or  unwisely,  of  all  man's 
struggles,  toilings,  and  sufferings,  in  this  earth. 

I  am  persuaded  that  the  Polynesians,  from  Hawaii 
to  Tahiti,  are  dying  because  of  the  suppression  of  the 
play-instinct,  an  instinct  that  had  its  expression  in  most 
of  their  customs  and  occupations.  Their  dancing,  their 
tattooing,  their  chanting,  their  religious  rites,  and  even 
their  warfare,  had  very  visible  elements  of  humor  and 
joyousness.  They  were  essentially  a  happy  people, 
full  of  dramatic  feeling,  emotional,  and  with  a  keen 
sense  of  the  ridiculous.  The  rule  of  the  trader  crushed 
all  these  native  feelings. 

To  this  restraint  was  added  the  burden  of  the  effort 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  165 

to  live.  With  the  entire  Marquesan  economic  and  social 
system  disrupted,  food  was  not  so  easily  procurable,  and 
they  were  driven  to  work  by  commands,  taxes,  fines, 
and  the  novel  and  killing  incentives  of  rum  and  opium. 
The  whites  taught  the  men  to  sell  their  lives,  and  the 
women  to  sell  their  charms. 

Happiness  and  health  were  destroyed  because  the 
white  man  came  here  only  to  gratify  his  cupidity.  The 
priests  could  bring  no  inspiration  sufficient  to  overcome 
the  degradation  caused  by  the  traders.  The  Marquesan 
saw  that  Jesus  had  small  influence  over  their  rulers. 
Civilization  lost  its  opportunity  because  it  gave  precept, 
but  no  example. 

Even  to-day,  one  white  man  in  a  valley  sets  the  stand- 
ard of  sobriety,  of  kindness,  and  honor.  Jensen,  the 
frank  and  handsome  Dane  who  works  for  the  Germans 
at  Taka-Uka  who  was  in  the  breadline  in  New  York  and 
swears  he  will  never  return  to  civilization,  told  me  that 
when  he  kept  a  store  in  Hanamenu,  near  Atuona,  to 
serve  the  bare  handful  of  unexterminated  tribesmen 
there,  the  people  imitated  him  in  everything,  his  clothes, 
his  gestures,  his  least-studied  actions. 

"I  was  the  only  white.  I  planted  a  fern  in  a  box. 
Every  one  came  to  my  store  and,  feigning  other  reasons, 
asked  for  boxes.  Soon  every  paepae  had  its  box  of 
ferns.  I  asked  a  man  to  snare  four  or  five  goats  for  me 
in  the  hills.  They  were  the  first  goats  tethered  or  en- 
closed in  the  valley.  Within  a  week  the  mountains  were 
harried  for  goats,  and  the  village  was  noisy  with  their 
bleating.  I  ate  my  goats ;  they  ate  theirs.  Not  one  was 
left.  When  I  forsook  Hanamenu,  the  whole  population 
moved  with  me.  Sure,  I  was  decent  to  them,  that  was  all. 


166  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"I  never  want  to  see  the  white  man's  country  again. 
I  have  starved  in  the  big  cities,  and  worked  like  a  dog 
for  the  banana  trust  in  the  West  Indies.  I  have  begged 
a  cup  of  coffee  in  San  Francisco,  and  been  fanned  by  a 
cop's  club.  Here  I  make  almost  nothing,  I  have  many 
friends  and  no  superiors,  and  I  am  happy." 

Had  these  lovable  savages  had  a  few  fine  souls  to  lead 
them,  to  shield  them  from  the  dregs  of  civilization 
heaped  on  them  for  a  century,  they  might  have  devel- 
oped into  a  wonder  race  to  set  a  pace  in  beauty,  courage, 
and  natural  power  that  would  have  surprised  and  helped 
Europe. 

They  needed  no  physical  regeneration.  They  were 
better  born  into  health  and  purity — bloody  as  were  some 
of  their  customs — than  most  of  us.  Their  bodies  had 
not  become  a  burden  on  the  soul,  but,  light  and  strong 
and  unrestrained,  were  a  part  of  it.  They  did  not  know 
that  they  had  bodies;  they  only  leaped,  danced,  flung 
themselves  in  and  out  of  the  sea,  part  of  a  large,  happy, 
and  harmonious  universe. 

If  to  that  superb,  almost  perfect,  physical  base  that 
nature  had  given  these  Marquesans,  to  that  sweetness 
simplicity,  generosity,  and  trust  acknowledged  by  all 
who  know  them,  there  could  have  been  added  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  things  we  have  learned;  if  by  example  and 
kindness  they  could  have  been  given  rounded  and  in- 
formed intelligence,  what  living  there  would  have  been 
in  these  islands! 

All  they  needed  was  a  brother  who  walked  in  the  sun- 
light and  showed  the  way. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  savage  dance,  a  drama  of  the  sea,  of  danger  and  feasting;  the  rape  of 
the  lettuce. 

DRUMS  were  beating  all  the  morning,  thrilling 
the  valley  and  mountain-sides  with  their  bar- 
baric boom-boom.  The  savage  beat  of  them 
quickened  the  blood,  stirring  memories  older  than  man- 
kind, waking  wild  and  primitive  instincts.  Toho's  eyes 
gleamed,  and  her  toes  curled  and  uncurled  like  those 
of  a  cat,  while  she  told  me  that  the  afternoon  would 
see  an  old  dance,  a  drama  of  the  sea,  of  war,  and  feast- 
ing such  as  the  islands  had  known  before  the  whites 
came. 

The  air  thrummed  with  the  resonance  of  the  drums. 
All  morning  I  sat  alone  on  my  paepae,  hearing  them 
beat.  The  sound  carried  one  back  to  the  days  when 
men  first  tied  the  skins  of  animals  about  hollow  tree- 
trunks  and  thumped  them  to  call  the  naked  tribes  to- 
gether under  the  oaks  of  England.  Those  great  drums 
beaten  by  the  hands  of  Haabunai  and  Song  of  the 
Nightingale  made  one  want  to  be  a  savage,  to  throw 
a  spear,  to  dance  in  the  moonlight. 

Erase  thirty  years,  and  hear  it  in  Atuona  when  the 
"long  pig  that  speaks"  was  being  carried  through  the 
jungle  to  the  dark  High  Place!  Then  it  was  the  thun- 
der of  the  heavens,  the  voice  of  the  old  gods  hungry  for 
the  flesh  of  their  enemies. 

We  who  have  become  refined  and  diverse  in  our  musi- 

167 


168  WHITE  SHADOWS 

cal  expression,  using  a  dozen  or  scores  of  instruments  to 
interpret  our  subtle  emotions,  cannot  know  the  primitive 
and  savage  exaltation  that  surges  through  the  veins 
When  the  war-drum  beats.  To  the  Marquesans  it  has 
ever  been  a  summons  to  action,  an  inspiration  to  daring 
and  bloody  deeds,  the  call  of  the  war-gods,  the  frenzy 
of  the  dance.  Born  of  the  thunder,  speaking  with  the 
voice  of  the  storm  and  the  cataract,  it  rouses  in  man 
the  beast  with  quivering  nostrils  and  lashing  tail  who 
was  part  of  the  forest  and  the  night. 

Music  is  ever  an  expression  of  the  moods  and  morals 
of  its  time.  The  bugle  and  the  fife  share  with  the  drum 
the  rousing  of  martial  spirit  in  our  armies  to-day,  but 
to  our  savage  ancestors  the  drum  was  supreme.  Primi- 
tive man  expressed  his  harmony  with  nature  by  imi- 
tating its  sounds.  He  struck  his  own  body  or  a  hollow 
log  covered  with  skin.  Uncivilized  peoples  crack  their 
fingers,  snap  their  thighs,  or  strike  the  ground  with  their 
feet  to  furnish  music  for  impromptu  dancing.  In 
Tonga  they  crack  their  fingers;  in  Tahiti  they  pound 
the  earth  with  the  soles  of  their  feet;  here  in  Atuona 
they  clap  hands.  The  Marquesans  have,  too,  bamboo 
drums,  long  sections  of  the  hollow  reed,  slit,  and  beaten 
with  sticks.  For  calling  boats  and  for  signaling  they 
use  the  conch-shell,  the  same  that  sounded  when  "the 
Tritons  blew  their  wreathed  horn."  They  also  have 
the  jew's-harp,  an  instrument  common  to  all  Poly- 
nesia ;  sometimes  a  strip  of  bark  held  between  the  teeth, 
sometimes  a  bow  of  wood  strung  with  gut. 

Civilization  is  a  process  of  making  life  more  complex 
and  subtle.  We  have  the  piano,  the  violin,  the  or- 
chestra. Yet  we  also  have  rag-time,  which  is  a  reaction 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  169 

from  the  nervous  tension  of  American  commercial  life, 
a  swinging  back  to  the  old  days  when  man,  though  a 
brute,  was  free.  There  is  release  and  exhilaration  in 
the  barbaric,  syncopated  songs  and  in  the  animal-like 
motions  of  the  jazz  dances  with  their  wild  and  passion- 
ate attitudes,  their  unrestrained  rhythms,  and  their  di- 
rect appeal  to  sex.  These  rag-time  melodies,  coming 
straight  from  the  jungles  of  Africa  through  the  negro, 
call  to  impulses  in  man  that  are  stifled  in  big  cities, 
in  factory  and  slum  and  the  nerve-wearing  struggle  of 
business. 

So  in  the  dance  my  Marquesan  neighbors  returned  to 
the  old  ways  and  expressed  emotions  dying  under  the 
rule  of  an  alien  people.  With  the  making  light  of 
their  reverenced  tapus,  the  proving  that  their  gods  were 
powerless,  and  the  ending  of  their  tribal  life,  the  dance 
degraded.  They  did  not  care  to  dance  now  that  their 
joy  in  life  was  gone.  But  the  new  and  jolly  governor, 
craving  amusement,  sought  to  revive  it  for  his  pleasure. 
So  the  drums  were  beating  on  the  palace  lawn,  and  after- 
noon found  the  trails  gay  with  pareus  and  brilliant 
shawls  as  the  natives  came  down  from  their  paepaes 
to  the  seat  of  government. 

Chief  Kekela  Avaua,  adopted  son  of  the  old  Kekela, 
and  head  man  of  the  Paamau  district,  called  for  me. 
He  was  a  dignified  and  important  man  of  forty-five 
years,  with  handsome  patterns  in  tattooing  on  his  legs, 
and  Dundreary  whiskers.  He  was  quite  modishly 
dressed  in  brown  linen,  beneath  which  showed  his  bare, 
prehensile-toed  feet. 

Kirio  Patuhamane,  a  marvelous  specimen  of  scrolled 
ink-marks  from  head  to  foot,  who  sported  Burnside 


170  WHITE  SHADOWS 

whiskers,  an  English  cricket  cap,  and  a  scarlet  loin- 
cloth, accompanied  us  down  the  road. 

A  hundred  natives  were  squatting  in  the  garden  of 
the  palace,  and  rum  and  wine  were  being  handed  out 
when  we  arrived.  Haabunai  and  Song  of  the  Nightin- 
gale, the  man  under  sentence  for  making  palm  brandy, 
were  once  more  the  distributors,  and  took  a  glass  often. 
The  people  had  thawed  since  the  dance  at  the  governor's 
inauguration.  As  Kirio  Patuhamane  explained,  they 
had  waited  to  observe  the  disposition  of  their  new  ruler, 
the  last  having  been  severe,  dispensing  no  rum  save 
for  his  own  selfish  gain,  and  having  a  wife  who  despised 
them. 

My  tawny  feminine  friends  resented  keenly  white 
women's  airs  of  superiority,  and  many  were  the  cold 
glances  cast  by  Malicious  Gossip,  Apporo,  and  Flower 
at  the  stiffly  gowned  Madame  Bapp,  who  sat  on  the 
veranda  drinking  absinthe.  They  scorned  her,  because 
she  beat  her  husband  if  he  but  looked  at  one  of  them, 
though  he  owned  a  store  and  desired  their  custom. 
Poor  Madame  Bapp !  She  thought  her  little  man  very 
attractive,  and  she  lived  in  misery  because  of  the  openly- 
displayed  charms  of  his  customers.  She  loved  him,  and 
when  jealous  she  sought  the  absinthe  bottle  and  soon 
was  busy  with  whip  and  broom  on  the  miserable  Bapp, 
who  sought  to  flee.  It  was  useless;  she  had  looked  to 
doors  and  windows,  and  he  must  take  a  painful  punish- 
ment, the  while  the  crockery  smashed  and  all  Atuona 
Valley  listened  on  its  paepaes,  laughing  and  well  know- 
ing that  the  little  man  had  given  no  cause  for  jealousy. 

She  greeted  me  with  cold  politeness  when  I  mounted 
to  the  veranda,  and  the  governor  dispensed  glasses  of 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  171 

"Dr.  Funk,"  a  drink  known  to  all  the  South  Seas.  Its 
secret  is  merely  the  mixing  of  a  stiff  drink  of  absinthe 
with  lemonade  or  limeade.  The  learned  man  who  added 
this  death-dealing  potion  to  the  pleasures  of  the  thirsty 
was  Stevenson's  friend,  and  attended  him  in  his  last 
illness.  I  do  not  know  whether  Dr.  Funk  ever  mixed 
his  favorite  drink  for  R.L.S.,  but  his  own  fame  has 
spread,  not  as  a  healer,  but  as  a  dram-decocter,  from 
Samoa  to  Tahiti.  "Dr.  Funk!"  one  hears  in  every  club 
and  bar.  Its  particular  merits  are  claimed  by  experts 
to  be  a  stiffening  of  the  spine  when  one  is  all  in;  an 
imparting  of  courage  to  live  to  men  worn  out  by  doing 
nothing. 

The  governor  in  gala  attire  was  again  the  urban  host, 
assisted  by  Andre  Bauda,  now  his  close  friend  and  con- 
fidant. Bauda  himself  had  been  in  the  island  only  a 
few  months,  and  knew  no  more  Marquesan  speech  than 
the  governor.  Both  these  officials  were  truly  hospitable, 
embarrassingly  so,  considering  my  inability  to  keep  up 
with  them  in  their  toasts. 

Soon  the  demijohn  of  rum  had  been  emptied  into  the 
glasses  passing  from  hand  to  hand  in  the  garden; 
Haabunai  and  Song  of  the  Nightingale  again  evoked 
the  thrumming  beat  of  the  great  drums,  and  the  dance 
began.  This  was  a  tragedy  of  the  sea,  a  pantomine  of 
danger  and  conflict  and  celebration.  For  centuries 
past  the  ancestors  of  these  dancers  had  played  it  on  the 
Forbidden  Height.  Even  the  language  in  which  they 
chanted  was  archaic  to  this  generation,  its  words  and 
their  meanings  forgotten. 

The  women  sat  upon  the  grass  in  a  row,  and  first, 
in  dumb  show,  they  lifted  and  carried  from  its  house 


172  WHITE  SHADOWS 

to  the  beach  a  long  canoe.  The  straining  muscles  of 
their  arms,  the  sway  of  their  bodies,  imitated  the  rais- 
ing of  the  great  boat,  and  the  walking  with  its  weight, 
the  launching,  the  waiting  for  the  breakers  and  the 
undertow  that  would  enable  them  to  pass  the  surf  line, 
and  then  the  paddling  in  rough  water. 

Meantime  at  a  distance  the  men  chanted  in  chorus, 
giving  rhythmic  time  to  the  motions  of  the  dancers  and 
telling  in  the  long-disused  words  the  story  of  the  drama. 
And  the  drums  beat  till  their  rolling  thunder  resounded 
far  up  the  valley. 

After  the  canoe  was  moving  swiftly  through  the  water 
the  women  rested.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  low  con- 
tinued chant  of  the  men  expressed  a  longing  for  free- 
dom, for  a  return  to  nature,  and  a  melancholy  comment 
on  the  days  of  power  and  liberty  gone  forever.  Though 
no  person  present  understood  the  ancient  language  of 
the  song,  there  was  no  need  of  words  to  interpret  the 
exact  meaning  of  the  dance.  Though  no  word  had  been 
uttered,  the  motions  of  the  women  would  have  clearly 
told  the  tale. 

When  they  began  again,  the  sea  grew  more  agitated. 
Now  the  wail  of  the  men  reproduced  the  sound  of  waves 
beating  on  the  canoe,  and  the  whistling  of  the  wind. 
The  canoe  was  tossed  high  by  the  pounding  sea ;  it  slid 
dizzily  down  into  the  troughs  of  waves  and  rocked  as 
the  oarsmen  fought  to  hold  it  steady.  The  squall  had 
grown  into  a  gale,  roaring  upon  them  while  they  tried 
to  hold  it  steady.  The  canoe  began  to  fill  with  water, 
it  sank  deeper  and  deeper,  and  in  another  moment  the 
boatsmen  were  flung  into  the  ocean.  There  they  strug- 
gled with  the  great  seas;  they  swam;  they  regained  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  173 

canoe ;  they  righted  it,  climbed  into  it.  The  storm  sub- 
sided, the  seas  went  down. 

Again  the  women  rested,  their  arms  and  bodies  shin- 
ing with  perspiration.  All  this  time  they  had  remained 
immobile  from  the  waist  downward;  their  naked  legs 
folded  under  them  like  those  of  statues.  The  chant  of 
the  men  was  quieter  now,  expressing  a  memory  of  the 
old  gaiety  now  crushed  by  the  inhibitions  of  the  whites, 
by  ridicule  of  island  legends,  and  by  the  stern  denun- 
ciations of  priests  and  preachers.  Yet  it  was  full  of 
suggestion  of  days  gone  by  and  the  people  who  had  once 
sailed  the  seas  among  these  islands. 

Again  the  dancers  raised  their  arms,  and  the  canoe 
sailed  over  sunny  waters.  At  length  it  touched  at  an 
isle,  it  was  carried  through  the  breakers  to  a  resting 
place  on  the  sand.  Its  oarsmen  rejoiced,  they  danced 
a  dance  of  thanksgiving  to  their  gods,  and  wreathed 
the  ti  leaves  in  their  hair. 

At  this  moment  Haabunai,  master  of  ceremonies, 
gave  a  cry  of  dismay  and  ceased  to  beat  his  drum. 
With  an  anguished  glance  at  the  assembled  spectators, 
he  dashed  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  to  reappear 
in  an  instant  with  his  hands  full  of  green  leaves. 

ffMon  dieu!"  cried  the  governor.  ffMon  salade! 
Mon  salade!" 

Haabunai,  busied  with  his  duties,  had  forgotten  to 
provide  the  real  and  sacred  ti.  In  despair  at  the  last 
moment  he  had  raided  and  utterly  destroyed  the  gover- 
nor's prized  lettuce  bed,  the  sole  provision  for  salad- 
making  in  Atuona.  He  hastily  divided  the  precious 
leaves  among  the  dancers,  and  with  wilting  lettuce  en- 
wreathed  in  their  tresses  the  oarsmen  launched  the  canoe 


174  WHITE  SHADOWS 

once  more  in  the  waves  and  returned  to  their  own  isle, 
praising  the  gods. 

All  relaxed  now,  to  receive  the  praises  of  the  governor 
and  the  brimming  glasses  once  more  offered  by  the  dili- 
gent Haabunai  and  Song,  aided  by  the  gendarme. 

A  gruesome  cannibal  chant  followed,  accompanied  by 
(he  booming  of  the  drums,  and  then,  warmed  by  the 
liquor  that  fired  their  brains,  the  dancers  began  the 
haka,  the  sexual  dance.  Inflamed  by  the  rum,  they 
flung  themselves  into  it  with  such  abandon  as  I  have 
never  seen,  and  I  saw  a  kamaaina  in  Hawaii  and  have 
seen  Caroline,  Miri,  and  Mamoe,  most  skilled  dancers 
of  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  With  the  continued  passing 
of  the  cup,  the  hurahura  soon  became  general.  The 
men  and  women  who  had  begun  dancing  in  rows,  in  an 
organized  way,  now  broke  ranks  and  danced  freely  all 
over  the  lawn.  Men  sought  out  the  women  they  liked, 
and  women  the  men,  challenging  each  other  in  frenzied 
and  startling  exposition  of  the  ancient  ways. 

The  ceaseless  booming  of  the  drums  added  incitement 
to  the  frenzy ;  the  grounds  of  the  governor's  palace  were 
a  chaos  of  twisting  brown  bodies  and  agitated  pareus, 
while  from  all  sides  rose  cries,  shouts,  hysterical  laugh- 
ter, and  the  sound  of  clapping  hands  and  thumping 
feet.  Here  and  there  dancers  fell  exhausted,  until  by 
elimination  the  dance  resolved  itself  into  a  duet,  all 
yielding  the  turf  to  Many  Daughters,  the  little,  lovely 
leper,  and  Kekela  Avaua,  chief  of  Paumau.  These  left 
the  lawn  and  advanced  to  the  veranda,  where  so  con- 
tagious had  become  the  enthusiasm  that  the  governor 
was  doing  the  hurahura  opposite  Bauda,  and  Ah  Yu 
danced  with  Apporo,  while  Song,  the  prisoner,  and 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  175 

Flag,  the  gendarme,   madly   emulated  the   star  per- 
formers. 

Kekela,  who  led  the  rout,  was  a  figure  at  which  to 
marvel.  A  very  big  man,  perhaps  six  feet  four  inches 
in  height,  and  all  muscle,  his  contortions  and  the  frenzied 
movements  of  his  muscles  exceeded  all  anatomical  laws. 
Many  Daughters,  her  big  eyes  shining,  her  red  lips 
parted,  followed  and  matched  his  every  motion.  Her 
entire  trunk  seemed  to  revolve  on  the  pivot  of  her  waist, 
her  hips  twisting  in  almost  a  spiral,  and  her  arms  akimbo 
accentuating  and  balancing  her  lascivious  mobility. 

The  governor  and  the  commissionaire,  Ah  Yu  and 
Apporo,  Monsieur  Bapp  with  Song  of  the  Nightingale 
and  Flag,  made  the  palace  tremble  while  the  thrum  of 
the  great  drums  maddened  their  blood. 

Exhausted  at  last,  they  lay  panting  on  the  boards. 
Song  was  telling  me  that  the  liquor  of  the  governor's 
giving  surpassed  all  his  illicit  make,  and  that  when  his 
sentence  expired  he  would  remain  at  the  palace  as  cook. 
Ah  Yu,  in  broken  English,  sang  a  ditty  he  had  heard 
forty  years  earlier  in  California,  "Shoo-fle-fly-doan- 
bodder-me."  Apporo,  overcome  by  the  rum  and  the 
dance,  was  lying  among  the  rose-bushes.  Many  others 
were  flung  on  the  sward,  and  more  rose  again  to  the 
dance,  singing  and  shouting  and  demanding  more  rum. 
The  girls  came  forward  to  be  kissed,  as  was  the  custom, 
and  Madame  Bapp  drove  them  away  with  sharp  words. 

Soon  the  hullabaloo  became  too  great  for  the  dignity 
of  the  governor.  He  gave  orders  to  clear  the  grounds, 
and  Bauda  issued  commands  from  the  veranda  while 
Song  and  Flag  lugged  away  the  drums  and  drove  the 
excited  mob  out  of  the  garden  and  across  the  bridge. 


176  WHITE  SHADOWS 

All  in  all,  this  Sunday  was  typical  of  Atuona  under 
the  new  regime. 

After  a  quiet  bath  in  the  pool  below  my  cabin  I  got 
my  own  dinner,  unassisted  by  Exploding  Eggs,  and 
went  early  to  bed  to  forestall  visitors.  The  crash  of 
a  falling  cocoanut  awakened  me  at  midnight,  and  I  saw 
on  my  paepae  Apporo,  Flower,  Water,  and  Chief 
Kekela  Avaua,  asleep.  The  chief  had  hung  his  trousers 
over  the  railing,  and  was  in  his  pareu,  his  pictured  legs 
showing,  while  the  others  lay  naked  on  my  mats.  There 
was  no  need  to  disturb  them,  for  it  is  the  good  and  hon- 
ored custom  of  these  hospitable  islands  to  sleep  wherever 
slumber  overtakes  one. 

The  night  was  fine,  the  stars  looked  down  through 
the  breadfruit-trees,  and  Temetiu,  the  giant  mountain, 
was  dark  and  handsome  in  the  blue  and  gold  sky.  Two 
sheep  were  huddled  together  by  my  trail  window,  the 
horses  were  lying  down  in  the  brush,  and  a  nightingale 
lilted  a  gay  love  song  in  the  cocoanut-palms  above  the 
House  of  the  Golden  Bed. 

Next  morning  all  Atuona  had  a  tight  handkerchief 
bound  over  its  forehead.  I  met  twenty  men  and  women 
with  this  sign  of  repentance  upon  their  brows.  Water- 
cress, the  chief  of  Atuona,  who  guards  the  governor's 
house,  was  by  the  roadside. 

"You  have  drunk  too  much,"  I  remarked,  as  I  spied 
the  rag  about  his  head. 

"Not  too  much,  but  a  great  deal,"  he  rejoined. 

"Faufau"  I  said  further,  which  means  that  it  is  a 
bad  thing. 

"Hana  paopao,"  he  said  sadly.  "It  is  disagreeable 
to  work.  One  likes  to  forget  many  things." 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  177 

There  was  bitterness  and  sorrow  in  his  tone.  His 
father  was  a  warrior,  under  the  protection  of  Toatahu, 
the  god  of  the  chiefs,  and  led  many  a  victorious  foray 
when  Watercress  was  a  child.  The  son  remembers  the 
old  days  and  feels  deeply  the  degradation  and  ruin 
brought  by  the  whites  upon  his  people.  A  distin- 
guished-looking man,  dignified  and  haughty,  he  was  one 
of  half  a  dozen  who  were  working  out  taxes  by  repairing 
the  roads,  and  he  was  one  of  the  few  who  worked  stead- 
ily, saying  little  and  seldom  smiling. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

A  walk  to  the  Forbidden  Place;  Hot  Tears,  the  hunchback;  the  story  of 
Behold  the  Servant  of  the  Priest,  told  by  Malicious  Gossip  in  the  cave 
of  Enamoa. 

IT  was  a  drowsy  afternoon,  and  coming  up  the 
jungle  trail  to  my  cabin  I  saw  Le  Brunnec,  the 
trader,  accompanied  by  Mouth  of  God  and  Tahi- 
apii,  half-sister  to  Malicious  Gossip. 

Le  Brunnec,  a  Breton,  intelligent,  honest,  and  light- 
hearted,  owned  the  store  below  the  governor's  palace  on 
the  road  to  Atuona  beach.  He  lived  above  it,  alone 
save  for  a  boy  who  cooked  for  him,  and  all  the  Mar- 
quesans  were  his  friends.  He  had  come  this  afternoon 
to  take  me  for  a  walk  up  Atuona  valley,  and  on  the 
main  road  below  my  house  Le  Moine,  Jimmy  Kekela, 
Hot  Tears,  the  hunchback,  and  Malicious  Gossip 
awaited  us. 

We  waded  the  river  and  found  a  trail  that  wandered 
along  it  crossed  it  now  and  then  and  hung  in  places  on 
the  high  banks  above  it.  The  trail  had  been  washed 
by  freshets  often  and  was  rough  and  stony,  overhung 
with  trees  and  vines.  Along  it,  a  hundred  feet  or  so 
from  the  river,  were  houses  sparsely  scattered  in  the 
almost  continuous  forest  of  cocoanut  and  breadfruit. 
Oranges  and  bananas,  mangoes  and  limes,  surrounded 
the  cabins,  most  of  which  were  built  of  rough  planks 
and  roofed  with  iron.  Here  and  there  I  saw  a  native 
house  of  straw  matting  thatched  with  palm  leaves,  a 

178 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  179 

sign  of  a  poverty  that  could  not  reach  the  hideous,  but 
admired,  standard  of  the  whites. 

Many  people  sitting  on  their  paepaes  called  to  us,  and 
one  woman  pointed  to  me  and  said  that  she  wished  to 
take  my  name  and  give  me  her  own.  This  is  their 
custom  with  one  to  whom  they  are  attracted,  but  I  af- 
fected not  to  understand.  I  did  not  want,  so  early  in 
my  residence  in  Atuona,  to  lose  a  name  that  had  served 
me  well  for  many  years,  and  besides,  if  I  took  another 
I  would  have  to  abide  by  whatever  it  might  be  and  be 
known  by  it.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  be  called  "Blue 
Sky"  or  "Killer  of  Sharks,"  but  how  about  "Drowned 
in  the  Sea"  or  "Noise  Inside"? 

"Keep  your  name  to  yourself,  mon  ami/'  said  Le 
Moine.  "They  expect  much  from  you  if  you  give  them 
yours.  They  will  give  you  heaps  of  useless  presents, 
but  you  alone  have  the  right  to  buy  rum." 

Following  a  curve  in  the  stream,  we  came  upon 
Teata  (Miss  Theater),  the  acknowledged  beauty  of 
Atuona,  waist-deep  in  a  pool,  washing  her  gowns.  She 
was  a  vision  of  loveliness,  large-eyed,  tawny,  her  hair 
a  dark  cascade  about  her  fair  face  and  bare  shoulders, 
the  crystal  water  lapping  her  slender  thighs  and  curl- 
ing into  ripples  about  her,  the  heavy  jungle  growth  on 
the  banks  making  an  emerald  background  to  her  beauty. 

"They  are  like  the  ancient  Greeks,"  said  Le  Moine," 
with  the  grace  of  accustomed  nudity  and  the  poise  of 
the  barefooted.  You  must  not  judge  them  by  the  pres- 
ent standards  of  Europe,  but  by  the  statues  of  Greece 
or  Egypt.  M'a'mselle  Theater  there  in  the  brook  would 
have  been  renowned  in  the  Golden  Age  of  Pericles.  I 
must  paint  her  before  she  is  older.  They  are  good 


180  WHITE  SHADOWS 

models,  for  they  have  no  nerves  and  will  sit  all  day  in  a 
pose,  though  they  dislike  standing,  and  must  have  their 
pipe  or  cigarette.  You  have  seen  Vanquished  Often, 
in  my  own  valley  of  Vait-hua,  whom  I  have  painted 
so  much.  Ah,  there  is  beauty!  One  will  not  find  her 
like  in  all  the  world.  Paris  knows  nothing  like  her." 

Teata  waved  her  hand  at  us  from  the  brook,  and  flung 
her  heavy  hair  backward  over  her  shoulder  as  she  went 
on  with  her  task.  Looking  back  at  her  before  the  trail 
wound  again  into  the  forest,  I  saw  that  her  features  in 
repose  were  hard  and  semi-savage,  the  lines  still  beauti- 
ful, but  cast  in  a  severe  and  forbidding  mold. 

We  climbed  steadily,  jumping  from  rock  to  rock 
and  clinging  to  the  bushes.  A  mile  up  the  valley  we 
came  suddenly  upon  a  plateau,  and  saw  before  us  the 
remains  of  an  ancient  Pekia,  or  High  Place,  a  grim  and 
grisly  monument  of  the  days  of  evil  gods  and  man- 
eating. 

This,  in  the  old  days,  was  the  paepae  tapu,  or  For- 
bidden Height,  the  abode  of  dark  and  terrible  spirits. 
Upon  it  once  stood  the  temple  and  about  it  in  the  depths 
of  night  were  enacted  the  rites  of  mystery,  when  the 
priests  and  elders  fed  on  the  "long  pig  that  speaks," 
when  the  drums  beat  till  dawn  and  wild  dances  mad- 
dened the  blood. 

When  it  was  built,  no  man  can  say.  Centuries  have 
looked  upon  these  black  stones,  grim  as  the  ruins  of 
Karnak,  created  by  a  mysterious  genius,  consecrated  to 
something  now  gone  out  of  the  world  forever.  For 
ages  hidden  in  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  it  was  swept  and 
polished  by  hands  long  since  dust ;  it  was  held  in  rever- 
ence and  dread.  It  was  tapu,  devoted  to  terrible  deities, 


The  old  cannibal  of  Taipi  Valley 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  181 

and  none  but  the  priests  or  the  chiefs  might  approach 
it  except  on  nights  of  ghastly  feasting. 

It  stood  in  a  grove  of  shadowy  trees,  which  even  at 
mid-afternoon  cast  a  gloom  upon  the  ponderous  black 
rocks  of  the  platform  and  the  high  seats  where  chiefs 
and  wizards  once  sat  devouring  the  corpses  of  their  foes. 
Above  them  writhed  and  twisted  the  distorted  limbs  of  a 
huge  banian-tree,  and  below,  among  the  gnarled  roots, 
there  was  a  deep,  dark  pit. 

We  paused  in  a  clear  space  of  green  turf  delicately 
shaded  by  mango-trees  walled  in  with  ferns  and  grass 
and  flowering  bushes,  and  gazed  into  the  gloom.  This 
was  forbidden  ground  until  the  French  came.  No  road 
led  to  it  then ;  only  a  narrow  and  dusky  trail,  guarded 
by  demons  of  Po  and  trod  by  humans  only  in  the 
whispering  darkness  of  the  jungle  night,  brought  the 
warriors  with  the  burdens  of  living  meat  to  the  place 
of  the  gods.  But  the  French,  as  if  to  mock  the  sacred 
things  of  the  conquered,  made  two  roads  converge  in 
this  very  spot,  from  which  one  wound  its  way  over  the 
mountains  to  Hanamenu  and  the  other  followed  the 
river  to  an  impasse  in  the  hills. 

"My  forefathers  and  mothers  ate  their  fill  of  'long 
pig'  here  and  danced  away  the  night,"  said  Hot  Tears, 
the  hunchback,  as  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  sat  upon 
the  stone  pulpit  that  once  had  been  a  wizard's.  His 
heavy  face,  crushed  down  upon  his  crooked  chest,  showed 
not  the  slightest  trace  of  fear;  a  pale  imp  danced  in 
each  of  his  narrowed  eyes  as  he  looked  up  at  me. 

"That  banian-tree,  my  grandfather  said,  held  the 
toua,  the  cord  of  cocoanut  fiber  that  held  the  living 
meat  suspended  above  the  baking  pit.  There,  you  see, 


182  WHITE  SHADOWS 

among  the  roots — that  was  the  oven,  above  which  the 
prisoners  hung.  Here  stood  the  great  drums,  and  the 
servants  of  the  priests  beat  them,  till  the  darkness  was 
filled  with  sound  and  all  the  valleys  heard. 

"Aue!"  The  hunchback  leaped  to  the  edge  of  the 
pit.  He  raised  his  thin  arms  in  the  air,  and  I  seemed 
to  see,  amidst  the  contorted  limbs  of  the  aged  banian, 
fifty  feet  above,  the  quivering  bodies  swaying.  "The 
toua  breaks  I  They  fall.  Here  on  the  rocks.  They 
are  killed  with  blows  of  the  u'u,  thus!  And  thus  the 
meat  is  cut,  and  wrapped  in  the  meika  aa.  Light  the 
fire!  Pile  in  the  wood!  It  roasts!" 

His  ghoulish  laughter  rose  in  the  dark  stillness  of  the 
jungle,  and  the  hair  stirred  on  my  scalp.  To  my  vision 
the  high  black  seats  were  filled  with  shadowy  figures, 
the  light  of  candlenut  torches  fell  on  tattooed  faces  and 
gleaming  eyes.  When  the  hunchback  moved  from  the 
tree  of  death,  feigning  to  carry  a  platter,  first  to  the 
great  seats  of  the  chiefs,  then  to  the  wide  platform 
below,  the  flesh  crawled  on  my  bones. 

"Ail  They  dance!  Ail  Ail  Ail  They  danced, 
and  they  loved!  All  night  the  drums  beat.  The 
drums!  The  drums!  The  drums!"  He  flung  his 
twisted  body  on  the  green  and  laughed  madly,  till  the 
old  banian  itself  answered  him.  For  a  moment  he 
writhed  in  a  silence  even  more  ghastly  than  his  laughter, 
then  lay  still. 

ffAuf"  he  said,  turning  over  on  his  back.  "My  grand- 
father believed  this  Pekia  to  be  the  abode  of  demons." 
He  paused.  "As  for  me,  I  believe  in  none  of  them, 
or  in  any  other  gods."  And  he  blew  out  his  breath 
contemptuously. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  183 

Le  Moine  surveyed  the  scene  critically. 

"What  a  picture  at  night,  with  torches  flickering,  and 
the  seats  filled  with  men  in  red  pareus!  Mais,  c'est 
terrible!" 

He  got  off  a  hundred  feet  and  squinted  through  a 
roll  of  paper. 

"I  wish  I  could  paint  it,"  he  said.  "It  must  be  a 
big  canvas,  and  all  dark  but  the  torches  and  a  few  faces. 
.1/ow  dieu!  Magnificent!" 

Is  cannibalism  in  the  Marquesas  a  thing  of  the  past? 
Do  those  grim  warriors  who  survive  the  new  regime 
ever  relapse?  Who  can  say?  It  is  not  probable,  for 
the  population  of  the  valleys  is  so  small  and  the  move- 
ments of  the  people  so  limited  that  absence  is  quickly 
detected.  Yet  every  once  in  awhile  some  one  is  miss- 
ing. 

"Haa  mate.  He  has  leaped  into  the  sea.  He  was 
paopao.  Life  was  too  long." 

Or,  if  the  disappearance  was  in  crossing  from  one 
valley  to  another,  it  is  said  that  a  rock  or  a  fall  of  earth 
had  swept  the  absent  one  over  a  cliff.  These  are  rea- 
sonable explanations,  yet  there  persist  whispers  of  foul 
appetitites  craving  gratification  and  of  old  rites  revived 
by  the  moke,  the  hermits  who  hide  in  the  mountains. 

Two  such  dissappearances  had  occurred  during  my 
brief  stay  in  Atuona,  and  I  had  made  little  of  the  whis- 
pers. But  now,  with  the  hideous  laughter  of  the  hunch- 
back still  ringing  in  my  ears,  they  slipped  darkly 
through  my  mind,  and  I  never  felt  the  sunshine  sweeter 
or  tasted  the  mountain  air  with  more  delight  than  when 
we  left  that  unholy  place  and  were  out  on  the  trail  again. 

Our  destination  was  a  waterfall,  with  a  pool  in  which 


184  WHITE  SHADOWS 

we  might  bathe,  and  after  leaving  the  Pekia  we  fol- 
lowed the  stream,  climbing  higher  and  higher  from  the 
sea.  In  the  Marquesas  all  the  rivers  begin  in  the  high 
mountains,  where  from  the  precipices  leap  the  torrents 
in  times  of  rain.  As  the  valleys  are  mere  ravines  at 
their  heads,  the  waters  collect  in  their  depths  and  roll 
to  the  ocean,  rippling  gently  on  sunny  days,  but  after 
a  downpour  raging,  rolling  huge  boulders  over  and  over 
and  tearing  away  cliffs. 

These  streams  are  the  life  of  the  people  in  the  upper 
valleys.  In  the  old  days  of  warfare  many  of  these 
mountain  dwellers  never  knew  the  sea;  they  were  pre- 
vented from  reaching  it  by  the  beach  clansmen  who 
claimed  the  fishing  for  their  own  and  made  it  death  for 
the  hill  people  to  venture  down  to  the  shore.  All  the 
people  of  a  single  valley,  six  or  perhaps  a  dozen  clans, 
united  to  war  against  other  valleys,  its  people  risking 
their  lives  if  they  trespassed  beyond  the  hills.  Yet 
under  a  wise  and  powerful  chief  a  whole  valley  lived 
in  amity  and  knew  no  class  or  clan  divisions. 

"We  are  going  to  Faihae,  The  Waters  of  the  Great 
Desire,"  said  Malicious  Gossip.  "It  was  a  sacred  place 
once  upon  a  time." 

We  climbed  painfully,  Le  Moine  and  I  suffering 
keenly  from  the  sharp  edges  of  the  stones  that  cut  even 
through  the  thick  soles  of  our  shoes.  The  others,  who 
were  barefooted,  made  nothing  of  them,  walking  as 
easily  and  lithely  as  panthers  on  the  jagged  trail. 
Soon  we  heard  the  crash  of  the  Vaihae,  and  sliding  down 
the  mountain-side  a  hundred  feet  we  came  into  a  depths 
of  a  gorge  a  yard  or  two  wide,  a  mere  crack  in  the  rocks, 
rilled  with  the  boom  and  roar  of  rushing  water.  The 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  185 

rain-swollen  stream,  cramped  in  the  narrow  passage, 
flung  itself  foaming  high  on  the  spray-wet  cliffs,  and 
dashed  in  a  mighty  torrent  into  a  deep  bowl  riven  out 
of  the  solid  granite  twenty  feet  below. 

We  put  off  our  clothes  and  leaped  into  the  pool,  en- 
joying intensely  the  coolness  of  the  swirling  water  after 
the  sweat  of  our  climb.  Malicious  Gossip  and  her  sister 
would  not  go  in  at  first,  but  when  I  had  climbed  the  face 
of  a  slippery  rock  twenty  feet  high  to  dive,  and  re- 
mained there  gazing  at  the  melancholy  grandeur  of  the 
scene,  Malicious  Gossip  put  off  her  tunic  and  swam 
through  the  race,  bringing  me  my  camera  untouched  by 
the  water.  She  was  a  naiad  of  the  old  mythologies  as 
she  slipped  through  the  green  current,  her  hair  stream- 
ing over  her  shoulders  and  her  body  moving  effortlessly 
as  a  fish.  Once  wetted,  she  remained  in  the  water  with 
us,  and  she  told  me  there  was  a  cave  behind  the  water- 
fall, hidden  by  the  glassy  sheet  of  water. 

"It  is  called  Enamoa  (Behold  the  Servant  of  the 
Priest)  and  it  has  a  terrible  history,"  said  Malicious 
Gossip.  "Follow  me  and  we  will  enter  it." 

She  swam  across  the  pool  and  turning  Irthely  in  the 
water  curved  out  of  sight  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
vortex.  Kekela  followed  her,  and  I  made  several  at- 
tempts, but  each  time  was  flung  back,  bruised  and 
breathless.  It  was  not  until  Kekela,  finding  a  long 
stick  in  the  cave,  thrust  it  through  the  white  foam,  that 
by  catching  its  end  in  the  whirling  water  I  was  able  to 
fight  through  the  roaring  and  smashing  deluge. 

The  cave  was  obscure  and  damp,  its  only  light  filter- 
ing through  the  moving  curtain  of  green  water.  Black 
and  crawling  things  squirmed  at  our  feet,  and  darkness 


186  WHITE  SHADOWS 

filled  the  recesses  of  the  cavern.  Malicious  Gossip's 
body  was  a  blur  in  the  dimness,  and  her  low  soft  voice 
was  like  an  overtone  of  the  deep  organ  notes  of  the  tor- 
rent. 

"The  tale  of  the  cave  of  Enamoa  is  not  a  legend,"  she 
said,  "for  it  is  more.  It  was  a  happening  known  to 
our  grandfathers.  There  were  two  warriors  who  cov- 
eted a  woman,  and  she  was  tapu  to  them.  She  was  a 
taua  vehine,  a  priestess  of  the  old  gods.  But  they 
coveted  her,  and  they  were  friends,  who  shared  their 
wives  as  they  divided  their  popoi." 

"Panalua,"  said  Kekela.  "That  is  'dear  friend  cus- 
tom.' We  had  it  in  Hawaii.  Brothers  shared  their 
wives,  and  sisters  their  husbands." 

"These  two  were  name-brothers,  and  loved  as  though 
they  were  brothers  by  blood,"  said  Malicious  Gossip. 
"And  their  hearts  were  consumed  with  flame  when  they 
looked  on  this  girl.  It  was  evil  of  them,  for  it  was 
against  the  will  of  the  gods.  She  was  of  their  own  clan, 
and  the  priests  had  made  her  tapu  until  she  had  reached 
a  certain  age.  Her  brother  was  the  servant  of  the 
priests,  and  she  was  consecrated  to  the  gods.  She  was 
guarded  by  most  sacred  custom.  It  was  forbidden  to 
touch  her  or  her  food. 

"Yet  these  warriors,  toa  they  were,  and  renowned  in 
battle,  coveted  her  with  a  desire  that  ate  their  sleep. 
And  at  last  when  they  had  drunk  the  fiery  namu  enata 
till  their  brains  were  filled  with  flames,  they  lay  in  wait 
for  her. 

"She  came  down  to  this  pool  to  bathe.  The  pool 
itself  was  tapu  save  for  those  consecrated  to  the  gods, 
yet  this  wretched  pair  crept  through  the  lantana  there 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  187 

on  the  bank,  and  watched  her.  She  stood  on  the  rock 
above  the  pool  and  put  off  her  pae,  her  cap  of  gauze, 
her  long  robe,  and  her  pareu,  all  of  finest  tree-cloth, 
for  in  those  days  before  the  whites  came  our  people 
were  properly  clothed.  All  naked  then  in  the  sunlight, 
she  lifted  her  arms  toward  the  sky  and  laughed,  and 
sat  down  on  a  rock  to  bathe  her  feet. 

"Suddenly  the  lustful  warriors  sprang  upon  her,  and 
stopping  her  cries  with  her  own  pae  they  swam  with  her 
into  this  cave.  Thought  and  breath  had  left  her;  she 
lay  as  one  dead,  and  before  they  had  attained  their  will 
they  heard  a  sound  of  one  approaching  and  singing 
on  the  rocks.  They  had  no  time  to  kill  her,  as  they  had 
intended,  that  she  might  not  bring  death  to  them.  They 
left  her  and  fled  along  the  cliffs,  barely  escaping  before 
the  other  man  came. 

"He  had  seen  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  a  sight  of 
some  one  fleeing  from  the  cave.  He  was  curious,  and 
swam  to  it.  It  was  late  in  the  day,  for  the  priestess  had 
come  for  the  evening  bath.  The  sun  had  hidden  him- 
self behind  Temetiu  and  the  cave  was  dark.  The  man 
came,  then,  stepping  with  care,  and  his  feet  found  in 
the  darkness  a  living  body,  warm  and  soft  and  perfumed 
with  flowers. 

"Then  in  the  darkness,  finding  her  very  sweet,  he 
yielded  to  the  demon.  But  when  he  brought  her  at  last 
through  the  falling  water  to  the  evening  light,  he  cried 
aloud.  He  was  the  moa,  the  servant  of  the  high  priest, 
and  this  was  his  sister  whom  he  loved. 

"He  screamed  thrice,  so  that  all  the  valley  heard  him, 
and  then  he  flung  her  into  the  pool  to  drown.  The 
people  saw  him  fleeing  to  the  heights.  He  never  re- 


188  WHITE  SHADOWS 

turned  to  them.  He  became  a  moke,  a  sorcerer,  who 
lived  alone  in  the  forest,  dreaded  by  all.  He  was  heard 
shrieking  in  the  night,  and  then  the  storms  came.  His 
eyes  were  seen  through  the  leaves  on  jungle  trails,  and 
he  who  saw  died. 

"Then  the  people  gave  the  cave  a  name,  the  name  of 
Enamoa,  Behold  the  Servant  of  the  Priest.  It  was 
much  larger  then  than  now,  as  large  as  a  grove.  But 
one  night  the  people  heard  the  noise  of  the  falling  of 
great  rocks,  and  in  the  morning  the  cave  was  small  as 
now.  The  moke  was  never  seen  again.  He  had 
brought  down  the  walls  of  the  cave  upon  himself,  be- 
cause it  had  seen  his  sin." 

Malicious  Gossip,  having  finished  her  tale,  slipped 
again  beneath  the  green  curtain  of  the  waterfall.  When 
I  had  fought  through  the  blinding,  crashing  waters  and 
floated  with  aching  lungs  on  the  surface  of  the  pool, 
she  was  donning  her  tunic  on  the  rocks  above  it,  and 
soon,  with  our  clothes  over  our  wet  bodies,  we  strolled 
back  to  Atuona,  Tahiapii  smoking  Kekela's  pipe. 


r 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  search  for  rubber-trees  on  the  plateau  of  Ahoa;  a  fight  with  the  wild 
white  dogs;  story  of  an  ancient  migration,  told  by  the  wild  cattle 
hunters  in  the  Cave  of  the  Spine  of  the  Chinaman. 

I  WENT  one  day  with  Le  Brunnec,  the  French 
trader,  in  search  of  rubber  trees  on  the  plateau 
of  Ahao,  above  Hanamenu,  on  the  other  side  of 
Hiva-oa  Island. 

Mounted  on  small,  but  sturdy,  mountain  ponies,  we 
followed  the  trail  across  the  river  and  up  the  steep  moun- 
tain-side clad  with  impenetrable  jungle,  climbing  ever 
higher  and  higher  above  deep  gorges  and  dizzying  preci- 
pices, until  at  noon  we  crossed  the  loftiest  range  and 
dipped  downward  to  the  wide  plateau. 

A  thousand  feet  above  the  valley,  level  as  a  prairie, 
and  indescribably  wild  and  deserted,  the  plain  stretched 
before  us.  At  some  distance  to  our  right  a  long  and 
narrow  mound  rose  five  hundred  feet  from  the  plateau, 
a  hill  that  did  not  mar  the  vast  level  expanse,  but  seemed 
instead  a  great  earthwork  piled  upon  it  by  man.  Its 
green  terrace  was  a  wild  garden  of  flowers  and  fruit 
growing  in  luxuriant  confusion,  watered  by  a  stream 
that  leaped  sparkling  among  tall  ferns. 

There  was  no  breadfruit,  for  it  will  live  only  where 
man  is  there  to  tend  it,  and  in  all  the  extent  of  the  table- 
land there  was  no  human  being  or  sign  of  habitation. 
Wild  cattle  and  boars  moved  in  droves  among  the  scat- 
tered trees,  or  stood  in  the  shallow  stream  watching  us 

189 


190  WHITE  SHADOWS 

with  curiosity  as  we  passed.  Thousands  of  guinea-pigs 
scampered  before  our  horses'  feet,  and  the  free  descend- 
ants of  house-trained  cats  from  the  cities  of  Europe  and 
America  perched  upon  lofty  branches  to  gaze  down  at 
our  cavalcade. 

I  have  seen  the  Garden  of  Allah,  and  the  Garden  of 
Eden, — if  I  can  believe  the  Arab  sheik  whose  camel  I 
bought  for  the  journey, — I  have  been  in  Nikko  at  its 
best,  and  known  Johore  and  Kandy  en  fete,  but  for  the 
hours  in  which  I  looked  upon  it  this  plateau  of  Ahao  was 
the  most  exquisite  spot  upon  the  earth.  The  wilderness 
of  its  tropic  beauty,  the  green  of  its  leafage,  the  rich 
profusion  and  splendor  of  its  flowers,  the  pale  colors 
that  shimmered  along  its  far  horizon,  and  the  desolate 
grandeur  of  Temetiu's  distant  summit  wrapped  in  thun- 
derous clouds,  gave  it  an  aspect  primitive,  mysterious, 
and  sublime. 

Upon  the  trees  hundreds  of  orchids  hung  like  jewels, 
and  vines  were  swung  in  garlands.  Flowers  of  every 
hue  spread  a  brilliant  carpet  beneath  the  horses'  hoofs ; 
the  hart's-tongue,  the  manamana-o-hina,  the  papa-mako 
and  the  parasol-plant,  with  mosses  of  every  description 
and  myriads  of  ferns,  covered  the  sward.  Some  were 
the  giant  tree-ferns,  tall  as  trees,  others  uncurled  snaky 
stems  from  masses  of  rusty-colored  matting,  and  every- 
where was  spread  the  delicate  lace  of  the  uu-fenua,  a 
maiden-hair  beside  which  the  florist's  offering  is  clumsy 
and  insignificant. 

We  made  our  own  way  through  the  tall  grass  and 
tangles  of  flowering  shrubs,  for  there  were  no  trails  save 
those  made  by  the  great  herds  of  wild  cattle  that  wan- 
dered across  the  plain.  Three  thousand  head  at  least  I 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  191 

saw  grazing  on  the  luxuriant  herbage,  or  pausing  with 
lifted  heads  before  they  fled  at  our  approach. 

"They  are  descendants  of  a  few  left  by  shipmasters 
decades  ago,"  said  Le  Brunnec.  "Twenty  years  ago 
they  roamed  in  immense  herds  all  over  the  islands.  I 
have  chased  them  out  of  the  trail  to  Hanamenu  with  a 
stick.  Like  the  goats  left  by  the  American  captain, 
Porter,  on  Nuka-hiva,  they  thrived  and  multiplied,  but 
like  the  goats  they  are  being  massacred. 

"Both  cattle  and  goats  were  past  reckoning  when, 
with  peace  fully  established  and  the  population  dwin- 
dling, the  French  permitted  the  Marquesans  to  buy  guns. 
The  natives  hunt  in  gangs.  Fifteen  or  twenty  men, 
each  with  rifle  or  shot-gun,  go  on  horseback  to  the  graz- 
ing grounds.  The  beasts  at  the  sound  of  the  explosions 
rush  to  the  highest  point  of  the  hills.  Knowing  their 
habits,  the  natives  post  themselves  along  the  ridges  and 
kill  all  they  can.  They  eat  or  take  away  three  or  four, 
but  they  kill  thirty  or  forty.  They  die  in  the  brush,  and 
their  bones  strew  the  ground." 

I  told  him  of  the  buffalo,  antelope,  and  deer  that  for- 
merly filled  our  woods  and  covered  our  prairies;  of 
Alexander  Wilson,  who  in  Kentucky  in  1811  estimated 
one  flight  of  wild  carrier  pigeons  as  two  thousand  mil- 
lions, and  of  there  being  not  one  of  those  birds  now  left 
in  the  world  so  far  as  is  known. 

Le  Brunnec  sighed,  for  he  was  a  true  sportsman,  and 
would  not  kill  even  a  pig  if  he  could  not  consume  most 
of  its  carcass.  Often  he  half-lifted  the  shot-gun  that 
lay  across  the  pommel,  but  let  it  drop  again,  saying, 
"We  will  have  a  wild  bird  for  supper." 

We  pitched  our  tent  as  the  moon  hung  her  lantern 


192  WHITE  SHADOWS 

over  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Never  was  tent  raised  in  a 
spot  lonelier  or  lovelier.  We  chose  for  our  camp  the 
shelter  of  a  moto  tree,  one  of  the  most  lordly  of  all  the 
growths  of  these  islands.  Not  ten  of  them  were  left  in 
all  the  Marquesas,  said  Le  Brunnec  as  I  admired  its 
towering  column  and  magnificent  spread  of  foliage. 
"The  whites  who  used  the  axe  in  these  isles  would  have 
made  firewood  of  the  ark  of  the  covenant." 

We  made  a  fire  before  -our  tent  and  cooked  a  wild 
chicken  he  had  shot,  which,  with  pilot-biscuit  and  Bor- 
deaux wine,  made  an  excellent  dinner.  Darkness  closed 
around  us  while  we  ate,  the  wide  plateau  stretched  about 
us,  mysterious  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  the  night 
was  cool  and  pleasant.  We  lay  in  lazy  comfort,  en- 
joying the  fresh  light  air  of  that  altitude  and  smoking 
"John's"  mixture  from  Los  Angeles,  till  sleepiness 
spilled  the  tobacco.  Our  numbed  senses  scarcely  let  us 
drag  our  mats  into  the  tent  before  unconsciousness 
claimed  us. 

I  was  wakened  by  the  blood-chilling  howls1  of  a  wolf- 
pack  in  full  cry,  and  a  shout  from  Le  Brunnec,  "The 
dogs!" 

He  stood  by  the  open  flap  of  the  tent,  a  black  sil- 
houette of  man  and  gun.  When  I  had  clutched  my  own 
rifle  and  reached  his  side  I  saw  in  the  moonlight  a  score 
of  huge  white  beasts,  some  tangled  in  a  snarling  heap 
over  the  remains  of  our  supper,  others  crouching  on  their 
haunches  in  a  ring,  facing  us.  One  of  them  sprang  as 
Le  Brunnec  fired,  and  its  hot  breath  fanned  my  face  be- 
fore my  own  finger  pressed  the  trigger. 

The  two  wounded  brutes  struggled  on  the  ground  un- 
til a  second  shot  finished  them,  and  the  rest  made  off  to  a 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  193 

little  distance,  where  Le  Brunnec  kept  them  with  an 
occasional  shot  while  I  brought  up  the  terrified  ponies, 
snorting  and  plunging.  More  wood  thrown  on  the  coals 
spread  a  circle  of  firelight  about  us,  and  Le  Brunnec  and 
I  took  turns  in  standing  guard  until  morning,  while  the 
white  dogs  sat  like  sheeted  ghosts  around  us  and  made 
the  night  hideous  with  howls.  One  or  the  other  of  us 
must  have  dozed,  for  during  the  night  the  beasts  dragged 
away  the  two  dead  and  picked  their  bones. 

These,  Le  Brunnec  said,  were  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  dogs  once  friendly  to  humanity,  and  like  the  wild  cats 
we  had  seen,  they  bore  mute  testimony  to  the  numbers 
of  people  who  once  lived  on  this  plateau. 

When  dawn  came  the  mountain  rats  were  scurrying 
about  the  meadows,  but  the  dogs  had  gone  afar,  leaving 
only  the  two  heaps  of  bones  and  the  wreckage  of  all  out- 
side the  tent  to  tell  of  their  foray.  The  sun  flooded 
the  mesa,  disclosing  myriad  fern-fronds  and  mosses  and 
colored  petals  waving  in  the  light  breeze  as  Le  Brunnec 
and  I  went  down  to  the  stream  to  bathe. 

Alas !  I  lolled  there  on  the  bank,  thinking  to  gaze  my 
fill  at  all  this  loveliness,  and  sat  upon  the  puke,  a  feath- 
ery plant  exquisite  to  the  eye,  but  a  veritable  bunch  of 
gadflies  for  pricking  meanness.  It  is  a  sensitive  shrub, 
retreating  at  man's  approach,  its  petioles  folding  from 
sight,  but  with  all  its  modesty  it  left  me  a  stinging  re- 
minder that  I  had  failed  to  respect  its  privacy. 

At  noon  we  came  to  the  hill  that  rises  from  the 
plateau,  and  found  at  its  base  a  cistern,  the  sole  token 
we  had  seen  of  the  domain  of  man,  except  the  dogs  and 
cats  that  had  returned  to  the  primitive.  It  was  a  basin 
cut  in  the  solid  rock,  and  doubtless  had  been  the  water 


194  WHITE  SHADOWS 

supply  of  the  tribes  that  dwelt  here  hemmed  in  by  ene- 
mies. There  was  about  it  the  vague  semblance  of  an 
altar,  and  in  the  brush  near  it  we  saw  the  black  remains 
of  a  mighty  paepae  like  that  giant  Marai  of  Papara  in 
Tahiti,  which  itself  seemed  kin  to  the  great  pyramid 
temple  of  Borobodo  in  Java.  Melancholy  memorials 
these  of  man,  who  is  so  like  the  gods,  but  who  passes  like 
a  leaf  in  the  wind. 

Lolling  in  the  stream  that  overflowed  the  edge  of  the 
ancient  cistern,  we  discussed  our  plans.  Le  Brunnec 
was  convinced  that  the  eva,  which  we  had  found  in  con- 
siderable numbers,  was  a  rubber-tree.  He  said  that 
rubber  was  obtained  from  many  trees,  vines,  roots,  and 
plants,  and  that  the  sap  of  the  eva,  when  dried  and 
treated,  had  all  the  necessary  bouncing  qualities.  We 
were  to  estimate  the  number  of  eva  trees  on  the  plateau 
and  size  up  the  value  of  the  land  for  a  plantation.  Thus 
we  might  turn  into  gold  that  poison  tree  whose  reddish- 
purple,  alluring  fruit  has  given  so  many  Marquesans 
escape  from  life's  bitterness,  whose  juice  wounded  or 
mutilated  warriors  drank  to  avoid  pain  or  contempt. 

Idling  thus  in  the  limpid  water,  we  heard  a  voice  and 
started  up  surprised.  A  group  of  natives  looked  down 
upon  us  from  the  hill  above,  and  their  leader  was  asking 
who  were  the  strange  haoe  who  had  come  to  their  valley. 

Le  Brunnec  shouted  his  name — Proneka,  in  the  native 
tongue — and  after  council  they  shouted  down  an  invita- 
tion to  breakfast.  We  had  no  guns,  or,  indeed,  any 
other  clothing  than  a  towel,  our  horses  being  tethered  at 
some  distance,  but  we  climbed  the  hill.  Half  way  up 
the  steep  ascent  we  were  confronted  by  a  wild  sow  with 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  195 

eight  piglets.  Le  Brunnec  said  that  one  of  them  would 
be  appreciated  by  our  hosts,  but  the  mother,  surmising 
his  intention,  put  her  litter  behind  her  and  stood  at  bay. 
To  attempt  the  rape  of  the  pork,  naked,  afoot,  and  un- 
armed, would  have  meant  grievous  wounds  from  those 
gnashing  tusks,  so  we  abandoned  the  gift  and  ap- 
proached our  hosts  empty-handed. 

We  found  them  waiting  for  us  in  the  Grotto  of  the 
Spine  of  the  Chinaman,  a  shallow  cave  in  the  side  of  the 
hill.  There  were  seven  of  them,  naked  as  ourselves, 
thick-lipped,  their  eyes  ringed  with  the  blue  ama-ink  and 
their  bodies  scrolled  with  it.  They  had  killed  a  bull  the 
day  before  and  had  cooked  the  meat  in  bamboo  tubes, 
steaming  it  in  the  earth  until  it  was  tender  and  tasty. 
We  gorged  upon  it,  and  then  rested  in  the  cool  cave 
while  we  smoked.  They  were  curious  to  know  why  we 
were  there,  and  asked  if  we  were  after  beef.  I  dis- 
claimed this  intention,  and  said  that  I  was  wondering  if 
Ahao  had  not  held  many  people  once. 

"Ai!  E  mea  tiatohu  hoi!  Do  you  not  know  of  the 
Piina  of  Fiti-nui?  Of  the  people  that  once  were  here? 
A  oe  ?  Then  I  will  tell  you." 

While  the  pipe  went  from  mouth  to  mouth,  Kitu,  the 
leader  of  the  hunters,  related  the  following: 

"The  Piina  of  Fiti-nui  had  always  lived  here  on  the 
plateau  of  Ahao.  The  wise  men  chronicled  a  hundred 
and  twenty  generations  since  the  -clan  began.  That 
would  be  before  Iholomoni  built  the  temple  in  ludea, 
that  the  priests  of  the  new  white  gods  tell  us  of.  The 
High  Place  of  the  Piina  of  Fiti-nui  was  old  before 
Iholomoni  was  born. 


196  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"But,  old  as  was  the  clan,  there  came  a  time  when  it 
grew  small  in  number.  For  longer  than  old  remem- 
bered they  had  been  at  war  with  the  Piina  of  Hana- 
uaua,  who  lived  in  the  next  valley  below  this  plateau. 
These  two  peoples  were  kinsman,  but  the  hate  between 
them  was  bitter.  The  enemy  gave  the  Piina  of  Fiti-nui 
no  rest.  Their  popoi  pits  were  opened  and  emptied, 
their  women  were  stolen,  and  their  men  seized  and  eaten. 
Month  after  month  and  year  after  year  the  clan  lost  its 
strength. 

"They  had  almost  ceased  to  tattoo  their  bodies,  for 
they  asked  what  it  served  them  when  they  were  so  soon 
to  bake  in  the  ovens  of  the  Hana-uaua  people.  They 
could  not  defeat  the  Hana-uaua,  for  they  were  small  in 
number  and  the  Hana-uaua  were  great.  The  best  fight- 
ers were  dead.  The  gods  only  could  save  the  last  of  the 
tribe  from  the  veindhae,  the  vampire  who  seizes  the 
dead. 

"The  taua  went  into  the  High  Place  and  besought  the 
gods,  but  they  were  deaf.  They  made  no  answer. 
Then  in  despair  the  chief,  Atituahuei,  set  a  time  when, 
if  the  gods  gave  no  counsel,  he  would  lead  every  man  of 
the  tribe  against  the  foe,  and  die  while  the  war-clubs 
sang. 

"Atituahuei  went  with  the  taua  to  the  giant  rock, 
Meae-Topaiho,  the  sacred  stone  shaped  like  a  spear  that 
stood  between  the  lands  of  the  warring  peoples,  and 
there  he  said  this  vow  to  the  gods.  And  the  people 
waited. 

"They  waited  for  the  space  of  the  waxing  and  waning 
of  the  moon,  and  the  gods  said  nothing.  Then  the  war- 
riors made  ready  their  u'u  of  polished  ironwood,  and 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  197 

filled  their  baskets  with  stones,  and  made  ready  the 
spears.  On  the  darkest  night  of  the  moon  the  Piina  of 
Fiti-nui  was  to  go  forth  to  fight  and  be  killed  by  the 
Hana-uaua. 

"But  before  the  moon  had  gone,  the  taua  came  down 
from  the  High  Place,  and  said  that  the  gods  had  spoken. 
They  commanded  the  people  to  depart  from  Ahao,  and 
to  sail  beyond  the  Isle  of  Barking  Dogs  until  they  came 
to  a  new  land.  The  gods  would  protect  them  from  the 
waves.  The  gods  had  shown  the  taua  a  hidden  valley, 
which  ran  to  the  beach,  in  which  to  build  the  canoes. 

"For  many  months  the  Piina  of  Fiti-nui  labored  in 
secret  in  the  hidden  valley.  They  built  five  canoes, 
giant,  double  canoes,  with  high  platforms  and  houses  on 
them,  the  kind  that  are  built  no  more.  In  these  canoes 
they  placed  the  women  and  children  and  the  aged,  and 
when  all  was  ready,  the  men  raided  the  village  of  the 
Piina  of  Hana-uaua,  and  in  the  darkness  brought  all 
their  food  to  the  canoes. 

"At  daybreak  the  Fiti-nui  embarked  in  four  of  the 
canoes,  but  one  they  must  leave  behind  for  the  daughter 
of  the  chief,  who  expected  to  be  delivered  of  a  child  at 
any  hour,  and  for  the  women  of  her  family,  who  would 
not  leave  her.  The  hidden  valley  was  filled  with  the 
sound  of  lamentation  at  the  parting,  but  the  gods  had 
spoken,  and  they  must  go. 

"When  the  four  canoes  were  in  the  sea  beyond  the 
village  of  Hana-uaua,  all  their  people  beat  their  war- 
drums  and  blew  the  trumpets  of  shell.  The  people  of 
Hana-uaua  heard  the  noise,  and  said  that  strangers  had 
come,  but  whether  for  a  fight  or  a  feast  they  did  not 
know.  They  rushed  to  the  shore,  and  there  they  saw  on 


198  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  sea  the  people  of  the  Fiti-nui,  who  called  to  them  and 
said  that  they  were  going  far  away. 

"Then  the  Hana-uaua  tribe  wept.  For  they  remem- 
bered that  they  were  brothers,  and  though  they  had 
fought  long,  the  warriors  of  Fiti-nui  had  been  good 
fighters  and  brave.  Also  many  Fiti-nui  women  had 
been  taken  by  the  men  of  Hana-uaua,  and  captured 
youths  had  been  adopted,  and  the  tribes  were  kin  by 
many  ties. 

"The  two  tribes  talked  together  across  the  waves,  and 
the  tribe  of  Hana-uaua  begged  their  brothers  not  to  go. 
They  said  that  they  would  fight  no  more,  that  the  pris- 
oners who  had  not  been  eaten  should  be  returned  to  their 
own  valley,  that  the  two  clans  would  live  forever  in 
friendship. 

"Then  the  people  of  Fiti-nui  wept  again,  but  they  said 
that  the  gods  had  ordered  them  to  sail  away,  and  they 
must  go. 

"  'But,'  said  the  chief  of  the  Fiti-nui,  'you  will  know 
that  we  have  reached  a  new  land  safely  when  the  Meae- 
Topaiho  falls,  when  the  great  spear  is  broken  by  the 
gods,  you  will  know  that  your  brothers  are  in  a  new 
home.' 

"Then  they  departed,  the  four  canoes,  but  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  chief  did  not  go,  for  her  child  was  long  in  being 
born.  She  lived  with  the  people  of  Hana-uaua  in  peace 
and  comfort.  And  when  the  season  of  the  bread- 
fruit had  come  and  gone,  one  night  when  the  rain  and 
the  wind  made  the  earth  tremble  and  slip,  the  people  of 
Hana-uaua  heard  a  roaring  and  a  crashing. 

"  'The  gods  are  angry/  they  said.  But  the  daughter 
of  the  chief  said,  'My  people  have  found  their  home.' 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  199 

And  in  the  morning  they  found  that  the  Meae-Topaiho 
had  fallen,  the  blade  of  the  spear  was  broken,  and  the 
prophecy  fulfilled. 

"That  was  four  generations  ago,  and  ever  since  that 
time  the  people  of  Hana-uaua  have  looked  for  some  sign 
from  their  brothers  who  went  away.  Their  names  were 
kept  in  the  memories  of  the  tribe.  Ten  years  ago  many 
men  were  brought  here  to  work  on  the  plantations,  from 
Puka-Puka  and  Na-Puka  in  the  Paumotas,  and  they 
talked  with  the  people. 

ffAue!  They  were  the  children's  children  of  the  Piina 
of  Fiti-nui.  In  those  low  islands  to  which  their  fathers 
and  mothers  went,  they  kept  the  words  and  the  names  of 
old.  They  had  kept  the  memory  of  the  journey.  And 
one  old  man  was  brought  by  his  son,  and  he  remembered 
all  that  his  father  had  told  him,  and  his  father  was  the 
son  of  the  chief,  Atituahuei. 

"These  people  did  not  look  like  our  men.  The  many 
years  had  made  them  different.  But  they  knew  of  the 
spear  rock,  and  of  the  prophecy,  and  they  were  in  truth 
the  lost  brothers  of  the  Hana-uaua  people. 

"But  the  Hana-uaua  people,  too,  were  dying  now. 
None  was  left  of  the  blood  of  the  chief's  daughter.  No 
man  was  left  alive  on  the  plateau  of  Ahao. 

"Their  popoi  pits  are  the  wallows  of  the  wild  boar;  on 
their  paepaes  sit  the  wild  white  dogs.  The  horned  cattle 
wander  where  they  walked.  Hee  i  te  fenua  ke!  They 
are  gone,  and  the  stranger  shall  have  their  graves." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  feast  to  the  men  of  Motopu;  the  making  of  kava,  and  its  drinking;  the 
story  of  the  Girl  Who  Lost  Her  Strength. 

THE  Vagabond,  Kivi,  who  lived  near  the  High 
Place,  came  down  to  my  paepae  one  evening  to 
bid  me  come  to  a  feast  given  in  Atuona  Valley 
to  the  men  of  Motopu,  who  had  been  marvelously  fav- 
ored by  the  god  of  the  sea. 

Months  of  storms,  said  Kivi,  had  felled  many  a  stately 
palm  of  Taka-Uka  and  washed  thousands  of  ripe  cocoa- 
nuts  into  the  bay,  whence  the  current  that  runs  swift 
across  the  channel  had  swept  the  fruitage  of  the  winds 
straight  to  the  inlet  of  Motopu,  on  the  island  of  Tahuata. 
The  men  of  that  village,  with  little  effort  to  themselves, 
had  reaped  richly. 

Now  they  were  come,  bringing  back  the  copra  dried 
and  sacked.  Seven  hundred  francs  they  had  received 
for  a  ton  of  it  from  Kriech,  the  German  merchant  of 
Taka-Uka,  from  whose  own  groves  it  had  been  stolen  by 
the  storms. 

On  the  morrow,  their  canoes  laden  with  his  goods, 
they  would  sail  homeward.  One  day  they  had  tarried 
to  raft  redwood  planks  of  California  from  the  schooner 
in  the  bay  to  the  site  of  Kivi's  new  house.  So  that  night 
in  gratitude  he  would  make  merry  for  them.  There 
would  be  much  to  eat,  and  there  would  be  kava  in  plenty. 
He  prayed  that  I  would  join  them  in  this  feast,  which 
would  bring  back  the  good  days  of  the  /caua-drinking, 
which  were  now  almost  forgotten. 

200 


Kivi,  the  kava  drinker  with  the  hetairae  of  the  valley 


A  pool  in  the  jungle 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  201 

I  rose  gladly  from  the  palm-shaded  mat  on  which  I 
had  lain  vainly  hoping  for  a  breath  of  coolness  in  the 
close  heat  of  the  day,  and  girded  the  red  pareu  more 
neatly  about  my  loins.  Often  I  had  heard  of  the  kava- 
drinking  days  before  the  missionaries  had  insisted  on 
outlawing  that  drink  beloved  of  the  natives.  The 
traders  had  added  their  power  to  the  virtuous  protests 
of  the  priests,  for  kava  cost  the  islanders  nothing,  while 
rum,  absinthe,  and  opium  could  be  sold  them  for  profit. 
So  &ai?a-drinking  had  been  suppressed,  and  after  dec- 
ades of  knowing  more  powerful  stimulants  and  nar- 
cotics, the  natives  had  lost  their  taste  for  the  gentler  bev- 
erage of  their  forefathers. 

The  French  law  prohibited  selling,  exchanging,  or 
giving  to  any  Marquesan  any  alcoholic  beverage.  But 
the  law  was  a  dead  letter,  for  only  with  rum  and  wine 
could  work  be  urged  upon  the  Marquesans,  and  I  failed 
to  reprove  them  even  in  my  mind  for  their  love  of  drink. 
One  who  has  not  seen  a  dying  race  cannot  conceive  of 
the  prostration  of  spirit  in  which  these  people  are  perish- 
ing. That  they  are  courteous  and  hospitable — and  that 
to  the  white  who  has  ruined  them — shows  faintly  their 
former  joy  in  life  and  their  abounding  generosity. 
Now  that  no  hope  is  left  them  and  their  only  future  is 
death,  one  cannot  blame  them  for  seizing  a  few  mo- 
ment's forgetfulness. 

Some  years  earlier,  in  the  first  bitterness  of  hopeless 
subjugation,  whole  populations  were  given  over  to 
drunkenness.  In  many  valleys  the  chiefs  lead  in  the 
making  of  the  illicit  namu  enata,  or  cocoanut-brandy. 
In  the  Philippines,  where  millions  of  gallons  of  cocoa- 
nut-brandy  are  made,  it  is  called  tuba,  but  usually  its 


202  WHITE  SHADOWS 

name  is  arrack  throughout  tropical  Asia.  Fresh  from 
the  flower  spathes  of  the  cocoanut-tree,  namu  tastes  like 
a  very  light,  creamy  beer  or  mead.  It  is  delicious  and 
refreshing,  and  only  slightly  intoxicating.  Allowed  to 
ferment  and  become  sour,  it  is  all  gall.  Its  drinking 
then  is  divided  into  two  episodes — swallowing  and  intox- 
ication. There  is  no  interval.  "Forty-rod"  whiskey  is 
mild  compared  to  it. 

I  had  seen  the  preparation  of  namu,  which  is  very 
simple.  The  native  mounts  the  tree  and  makes  incis- 
ions in  the  flowers,  of  which  each  palm  bears  from  three 
to  six.  He  attaches  a  calabash  under  them  and  lets  the 
juice  drip  all  day  and  night.  The  process  is  slow,  as 
the  juice  falls  drop  by  drop.  This  operation  may  be  re- 
peated indefinitely  with  no  injury  to  the  tree.  In  coun- 
tries where  the  liquor  is  gathered  to  sell  in  large  quanti- 
ties, the  natives  tie  bamboo  poles  from  tree  to  tree,  so 
that  an  agile  man  will  run  through  the  forest  tending  the 
calabashes,  emptying  them  into  larger  receptacles,  and 
lowering  these  to  the  ground,  all  without  descending 
from  his  lofty  height. 

The  namu  when  stale  causes  the  Marquesans  to  revert 
to  wickedest  savagery,  and  has  incited  many  murders. 
Under  the  eye  of  the  gendarme  its  making  ceases,  but  a 
hundred  valleys  have  no  white  policemen,  and  the  half 
score  of  people  remaining  amid  their  hundreds  of  ruined 
paepaes  give  themselves  over  to  intoxication.  I  have 
seen  a  valley  immersed  in  it,  men  and  women  madly 
dancing  the  ancient  nude  dances  in  indescribable  orgies 
of  abandonment  and  bestiality. 

Namu  enata  means  literally  "man  booze."  The  Per- 
sian-Arabic word,  nam,  or  narm-keffi,  means  "the  liquid 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  203 

from  the  palm  flower."  From  this  one  might  think  that 
Asia  had  taught  the  Marquesans  the  art  of  making  namu 
during  their  prehistoric  pilgrimage  to  the  islands,  but 
the  discoverers  and  early  white  residents  in  Polynesia 
saw  no  drunkenness  save  that  of  the  /ca^a-drinking.  It 
was  the  European,  or  the  Asiatic  brought  by  the  white, 
who  introduced  comparatively  recently  the  more  vicious 
cocoanut-brandy,  as  well  as  rum  and  opium,  and  it  is 
these  drinks  that  have  been  a  potent  factor  in  killing  the 
natives. 

It  has  ever  been  thus  with  men  of  other  races  subju- 
gated by  the  whites.  Benjamin  Franklin  in  his  auto- 
biography tells  that  when  he  was  a  commissioner  to  the 
Indians  at  Carlisle,  Pennsylvania,  he  and  his  fellow- 
commissioners  agreed  that  they  would  allow  the  Indians 
no  rum  until  the  treaty  they  earnestly  sought  was  con- 
cluded, and  that  then  they  should  have  plenty. 

He  pictures  an  all-night  debauch  of  the  red  men  after 
they  had  signed  the  treaty,  and  concludes:  "And,  in- 
deed, if  it  be  the  design  of  Providence  to  extirpate  these 
savages  in  order  to  make  room  for  cultivators  of  the 
earth,  it  seems  not  improbable  that  rum  may  be  the  ap- 
pointed means.  It  has  annihilated  all  the  tribes  who 
formerly  inhabited  the  sea-coast." 

It  was  not  for  me  to  speculate  upon  the  designs  of 
Providence  with  respect  to  the  Marquesans.  Kava  had 
been  the  drink  ordained  by  the  old  gods  before  the  white 
men  came.  Its  making  was  now  almost  a  lost  art;  I 
knew  no  white  man  who  had  ever  drunk  from  the  kava- 
bowl.  So  it  was  with  some  eagerness  that  I  followed 
Kivi  down  the  trail. 

Broken  Plate,  a  sturdy  savage  in  English  cloth  cap 


204  WHITE  SHADOWS 

and  whale's-teeth  earrings,  stood  waiting  for  us  in  the 
road  below  the  House  of  the  Golden  Bed,  and  together 
the  three  of  us  went  in  search  of  the  kav a  bush.  While 
we  followed  the  narrow  trail  up  the  mountain-side,  peer- 
ing through  masses  of  tangled  vines  and  shrubs  for  the 
large,  heart-shaped  leaves  and  jointed  stalks  we  sought, 
Kivi  spoke  with  passion  of  the  degenerate  days  in  which 
he  lived. 

Let  others  secretly  make  incisions  in  the  flower  of  the 
cocoanut  and  hang  calabashes  to  catch  the  juice,  said  he. 
Or  let  them  crook  the  hinges  of  the  knee  that  rum  might 
follow  fawning  on  the  whites.  Not  he!  The  drink  of 
his  fathers,  the  drink  of  his  youth,  was  good  enough  for 
him!  Agilely  he  caught  aside  a  leafy  branch  overhang- 
ing the  trail,  and  in  the  flecks  of  sunshine  and  shade  his 
naked,  strong  brown  limbs  were  like  the  smooth  stems  of 
an  aged  manzanita  tree. 

He  had  not  the  scaly  skin  or  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  the 
hava  debauchee,  whose  excesses  paint  upon  their  victim 
their  own  vivid  signs.  I  remembered  a  figure  caught  by 
the  rays  of  my  flashlight  one  might  on  a  dark  trail — a 
withered  creature  whose  whole  face  and  body  had  turned 
a  dull  green,  and  at  the  memory  of  that  grisly  phantom 
I  shuddered.  But  Broken  Plate,  on  the  trail  ahead, 
called  back  to  us  that  he  had  found  a  goodly  bush,  and 
without  more  words  we  clambered  to  it. 

The  kava,  a  variety  of  the  pepper-plant,  grows  to 
more  than  six  feet  in  height,  and  the  specimen  we  had 
found  thrust  above  our  heads  its  many  jointed  branches 
rustling  with  large,  flat  leaves.  The  decoction,  Kivi 
explained,  comes  from  the  root,  and  we  set  to  work  to 
dig  it. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  205 

It  was  huge,  like  a  gigantic  yam,  and  after  we  had 
torn  it  from  the  stubborn  soil  it  taxed  the  strength  and 
agility  of  two  of  us  to  carry  it  to  the  paepae  of  Broken 
Plate,  where  the  feast  was  to  be.  A  dozen  older  women, 
skilled  in  grating  the  breadfruit  for  popoi  making, 
awaited  us  there,  squatting  in  a  ring  on  the  low  plat- 
form. The  root,  -well  washed  in  the  river,  was  laid  on 
the  stones,  and  the  women  attacked  it  with  cowry-shells, 
scraping  it  into  particles  like  slaw.  It  was  of  the  hard- 
ness of  ginger,  and  filled  a  large  tanoa,  or  wooden 
trough  of  ironwood. 

The  scraping  had  hardly  well  begun,  while  Broken 
Plate  and  I  rested  from  our  labors,  smoking  pandanus- 
leaf  cigarettes  in  the  shade,  when  up  the  road  came  half 
a  dozen  of  the  most  beautiful  young  girls  of  the  village, 
clothed  in  all  their  finery. 

Teata,  with  all  the  arrogance  of  the  acclaimed  beauty, 
walked  first,  wearing  a  tight-fitting  gown  with  inser- 
tions of  fishnet,  evidently  copied  from  some  stray  fash- 
ion-book. She  wore  it  as  her  only  garment,  and  through 
the  wide  meshes  of  the  novel  lace  appeared  her  skin,  of 
the  tint  of  the  fresh-cooked  breadfruit.  She  passed  us 
with  a  coquettish  toss  of  her  shapely  head  and  took  her 
place  among  her  envious  companions. 

They  sat  on  mats  around  the  iron-wood  trough  and 
chewed  the  grated  root,  which,  after  thorough  mastica- 
tion, they  spat  out  into  banana-leaf  cups.  This  chew- 
ing of  the  Arat>a-root  is  the  very  'being  of  kava  as  a  bever- 
age, for  it  is  a  ferment  in  the  saliva  that  separates  alka- 
loid and  sugar  and  liberates  the  narcotic  principle. 
Only  the  healthiest  and  loveliest  of  the  girls  are  chosen 
to  munch  the  root,  that  delectable  and  honored  privilege 


206  WHITE  SHADOWS 

being  refused  to  those  whose  teeth  are  not  perfect  and 
upon  whose  cheeks  the  roses  do  not  bloom. 

Nevertheless,  as  I  smoked  at  ease  in  my  pareu  upon 
the  paeptie  of  my  simple  hosts  I  felt  some  misgivings 
rise  in  me.  Yet  why  cavil  at  the  vehicle  by  which  one 
arrives  at  Nirvana?  Had  I  not  tasted  the  chicha  beer 
of  the  Andes,  and  found  it  good?  And  vague  analogies 
and  surmises  floated  before  me  in  the  curls  of  smoke 
that  rose  in  the  clear  evening  light. 

What  hidden  clue  to  the  remotest  beginnings  of  the 
human  race  lies  in  the  fact  that  two  peoples,  so  far  apart 
as  the  Marquesans  and  the  South  American  Indians, 
use  the  same  method  of  making  their  native  beverage? 
In  the  Andes  corn  takes  the  place  of  the  kava  root,  and 
young  girls,  descendants  of  the  ancient  Incas,  chew  the 
grains,  sitting  in  a  circle  and  with  a  certain  ceremonious- 
ness,  as  among  these  Marquesans.  The  Marquesas  Is- 
lands are  on  the  same  parallel  of  latitude  as  Peru. 
Were  these  two  peoples  once  one  race,  living  on  that 
long-sunken  continent  in  which  Darwin  believed? 

Dusk  fell  slowly  while  I  pondered  on  the  mysteries  in 
which  our  life  is  rooted,  and  on  the  unknown  beginnings 
and  forgotten  significances  of  all  human  customs.  The 
iron-wood  trough  was  filled  with  the  masticated  root* 
and  in  groups  and  in  couples  the  girls  slipped  away  to 
bathe  in  the  river.  There  they  were  met  by  arriving 
guests,  and  the  sound  of  laughter  and  splashing  came 
up  to  us  as  darkness  closed  upon  the  paepae  and  the 
torches  were  lit. 

Lights  were  coming  out  like  stars  up  the  dark  valley 
as  each  household  made  its  vesper  fire  to  roast  breadfruit 
or  broil  fish,  and  lanterns  were  hung  upon  the  bamboo 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  207 

palisades  that  marked  the  limits  of  property  or  confined 
favorite  pigs.  A  cool  breeze  rose  and  rustled  the  fronds 
of  cocoanut  and  bamboo,  bringing  from  forest  depths  a 
clean,  earthy  odor. 

The  last  bather  came  from  the  brook,  refreshed  by  the 
cooling  waters  and  adorned  with  flowers.  All  were  in  a 
merry  mood  for  food  and  fun.  Half  a  dozen  flaring 
torches  illuminated  their  happy,  tattooed  faces  and 
dusky  bodies,  and  caught  color  from  the  vivid  blossoms 
in  their  hair.  The  ring  of  light  made  blacker  the  rus- 
tling cocoanut  grove,  the  lofty  trees  of  which  closed  in 
upon  us  on  every  side. 

Under  the  gaze  of  many  sparkling  eyes  Kivi  pierced 
green  cocoanuts  brought  him  fresh  from  the  climbing, 
and  poured  the  cool  wine  of  them  over  the  masticated 
kava.  He  mixed  it  thoroughly  and  then  with  his  hands 
formed  balls  of  the  oozy  mass,  from  which  he  squeezed 
the  juice  into  another  tanoa  glazed  a  deep,  rich  blue  by 
its  frequent  saturation  in  kava.  When  this  trough  was 
quite  full  of  a  muddy  liquid,  he  deftly  clarified  it  by 
sweeping  through  it  a  net  of  cocoanut  fiber.  All  the 
while  he  chanted  in  a  deep  resonant  voice  the  ancient 
song  of  the  ceremony. 

ecU  haanoho  ia  te  kai,  a  tapapa  ia  te  kai!"  he  called 
with  solemnity  when  the  last  rite  was  performed. 
"Come  to  supper;  all  is  ready." 

"Menike"  he  said  to  me,  "You  know  that  to  drink 
kava  you  must  be  of  empty  stomach.  After  eating, 
kava  will  make  you  sick.  If  you  do  not  eat  as  soon  as 
you  have  drunk  it,  you  will  not  enjoy  it.  Take  it  now, 
and  then  eat,  quickly." 

He  dipped  a  shell  in  the  trough,  tossed  a  few  drops 


208  WHITE  SHADOWS 

over  his  shoulder  to  propitiate  the  god  of  the  kava-dririk- 
ing,  and  placed  the  shell  in  my  hands. 

Ugh!  The  liquor  tasted  like  earth  and  water,  sweet- 
ish for  a  moment  and  then  acrid  and  pungent.  It  was 
hard  to  get  down,  but  all  the  men  took  theirs  at  a  gulp, 
and  when  Kivi  gave  me  another  shellf ul,  I  followed  their 
pattern. 

"Kail  Kai.  Eat!  Eat!"  Kivi  shouted  then.  The 
women  hurried  forward  with  the  food,  and  we  fell  to 
with  a  will.  Pig  and  popoi,  shark  sweetbreads,  roasted 
breadfruit  and  sweet  potatoes,  fruits  and  cocoanut-milk 
leaped  from  the  broad  leaf  platters  to  wide-open  mouths. 
Hardly  a  word  was  spoken.  The  business  of  eating 
proceeded  rapidly,  in  silence,  save  for  the  night -rustling 
of  the  palms  and  the  soft  sound  of  the  women's  hasten- 
ing bare  feet. 

Only,  as  he  saw  any  slackening,  Kivi  repeated  vigor- 
ously, "Kail  Kail" 

I  sat  with  my  back  against  the  wall  of  the  house  of 
Broken  Plate,  as  I  ate  quickly  at  the  mandate  of  my 
host,  and  soon  I  felt  the  need  of  this  support.  The  feast 
finished,  the  guests  reclined  upon  the  mats.  Women 
and  children  were  devouring  the  remnants  left  upon  the 
leaf  platters.  The  torches  had  been  extinguished,  all 
but  one.  Its  flickering  gleam  fell  upon  the  aged  face 
of  Kivi,  and  the  whites  of  his  eyes  caught  and  reflected 
the  light.  The  tattooing  that  framed  them  appeared 
like  black  holes  from  which  the  sparks  glinted  uncannily, 
and  the  kava  mounting  to  his  brain  or  to  mine  gave  those 
sparks  a  ghastliness  that  fascinated  me  in  my  keen, 
somnolent  state. 

From  the  shadows  where  the  women  crouched  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  209 

face  of  Teata  rose  like  an  eerie  flower.  She  had 
adorned  the  two  long  black  plaits  of  her  hair  with  the 
brilliant  phosphorescence  of  Ear  of  the  Ghost  Woman, 
the  strange  fungus  found  on  old  trees,  a  favored  evening 
adornment  of  the  island  belles.  The  handsome  flowers 
glowed  about  her  bodiless  head  like  giant  butterflies, 
congruous  jewels  for  such  a  temptress  of  such  a  frolic. 
The  mysterious  light  added  a  gleam  to  her  velvet  cheek 
and  neck  that  made  her  seem  like  the  ghost-woman  of 
old  legend,  created  to  lead  the  unwary  to  intoxicated 
death. 

The  palaver  came  to  me  out  of  the  darkness,  like 
voices  from  a  phonograph-horn,  thin  and  far  away. 
One  told  the  tale  of  Tahiapepae,  the  Girl  Who  Lost 
Her  Strength. 

Famine  had  come  upon  Atuona  Valley.  Children 
died  of  hunger  on  the  paepaes,  and  the  breasts  of 
mothers  shrunk  so  that  they  gave  forth  no  milk.  There- 
fore the  warriors  set  forth  in  the  great  canoes  for 
Motopu.  Meat  was  the  cry,  and  there  was  no  other 
meat  than  puaa  oa,  the  "long  pig." 

Then  in  the  darkness  the  hungry  fighting  men  of 
Atuona  silently  beached  their  canoes  and  crept  upon  the 
sleeping  village  of  Motopu.  Seven  were  killed  before 
they  could  fly  to  the  hills,  and  one  was  captured  alive,  a 
slender,  beautiful  girl  of  ten  years,  whom  they  tied  hands 
and  feet  and  threw  into  the  canoe  with  the  slain  ones. 

Back  they  came  from  their  triumph,  and  landed  on 
the  shore  here,  within  spear's-throw  from  the  paepae  of 
Broken  Plate.  Their  people  met  them  with  drum-beat- 
ing and  with  chanting,  bringing  rose-wood  poles  for 
carrying  the  meat.  The  living  girl  was  slung  over  the 


210  WHITE  SHADOWS 

shoulder  of  the  leader,  still  bound  and  weeping,  and  in 
single  file  heroes  and  their  people  marched  up  the  trail 
past  the  Catholic  mission.  Tohoaa,  Great  Sea  Slug, 
chief  of  Atuona  and  grandfather  of  Flag,  the  gendarme, 
was  foremost,  and  over  his  massive  shoulder  hung  the 
Girl  Who  Had  Lost  Her  Strength. 

Then  from  the  mission  came  Pere  Orens,  crucifix  in 
hand.  Tall  he  stood  in  his  garment  of  black,  facing  the 
Great  Sea  Slug,  and  lifting  on  high  his  hand  with  the 
crucifix  in  it.  Pere  Orens  had  been  made  tapu  by 
Great  Sea  Slug,  to  whom  he  had  explained  the  wonders 
of  the  world,  and  given  many  presents.  To  touch  him 
was  death,  for  Great  Sea  Slug  had  given  him  a  feast 
and  put  upon  him  the  white  tapa,  emblem  of  sacredness. 

Powerful  was  the  god  of  Pere  Orens,  and  could  work 
magic.  In  his  pocket  he  carried  always  a  small  god, 
that  day  and  night  said  "Mika!  Mika!"  and  moved  tiny 
arms  around  and  around  a  plate  of  white  metal.  This 
man  stood  now  before  the  Great  Sea  Slug,  and  the  chief 
paused,  while  his  hungry  people  came  closer  that  they 
might  hear  what  befell. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  said  Pere  Orens. 

"To  Pekia,  the  High  Place,  to  cook  and  eat,"  said 
Great  Sea  Slug.  Then  for  a  space  Pere  Orens  re- 
mained silent,  holding  high  the  crucifix,  and  the  chief 
heard  from  his  pocket  the  voice  of  the  small  god  speak- 
ing. 

"Give  to  me  that  small  piece  of  living  meat,"  said 
Pere  Orens  then. 

"Me  mamai  oe.  If  it  is  your  pleasure,  take  it,"  said 
Great  Sea  Slug.  "It  is  a  trifle.  We  have  enough,  and 
there  is  more  in  Motopu." 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  211 

With  these  words  he  placed  his  burden  upon  the  shoul- 
der of  the  priest,  and  heading  his  band  again  led  them 
past  the  mission,  over  the  river  and  to  the  High 
Place,  where  all  night  long  the  drums  beat  at  the  feast- 
ing. 

But  The  Girl  Who  Lost  Her  Strength  remained  in 
the  house  of  Pere  Orens,  who  cut  her  bonds,  fed  her,  and 
nursed  her  to  strength  again.  Baptized  and  instructed 
in  the  religion  of  her  savior,  she  was  secretly  returned  to 
her  surviving  relatives.  There  she  lived  to  a  good  age, 
and  died  four  years  ago,  grateful  always  to  the  God  that 
had  preserved  her  from  the  oven. 

He  who  spoke  was  her  son,  and  here  at  the  kava  bowl 
together  were  the  men  of  Motopu  and  the  men  of 
Atuona,  enemies  no  longer. 

The  voice  of  the  Motopu  man  died  away.  A  ringing 
came  in  my  ears  as  when  one  puts  a  seashell  to  them  and 
hears  the  drowsy  murmur  of  the  tides.  My  cigarette 
fell  from  my  fingers.  A  sirocco  blew  upon  me,  hot, 
stifling.  Kivi  laughed,  and  dimly  I  heard  his  inquiry: 

"Feavea?    Is  it  hot?" 

"E,  mahanahana.  I  am  very  warm,"  I  struggled  to 
reply. 

My  voice  sounded  as  that  of  another.  I  leaned 
harder  against  the  wall  and  closed  my  eyes. 

"He  goes  fast,"  said  Broken  Plate,  gladly. 

A  peace  passing  the  understanding  of  the  kava-igno- 
rant  was  upon  me.  Life  was  a  slumbrous  calm ;  not  dull 
inertia,  but  a  separated  activity,  as  if  the  spirit  roamed 
in  a  garden  of  beauty,  and  the  body,  all  suffering,  all 
feeling  past,  resigned  itself  to  quietude. 

I  heard  faintly  the  chants  of  the  men  as  they  began 


212  WHITE  SHADOWS 

improvising  the  after- feast  ing  entertainment.  I  was 
perfectly  aware  of  being  lifted  by  several  women  to 
within  the  house,  and  of  being  laid  upon  mats  that  were 
as  soft  to  my  body  as  the  waters  of  a  quiet  sea.  It  was 
as  if  angels  bore  me  on  a  cloud.  All  toil,  all  effort  was 
over ;  I  should  never  return  to  care  and  duty.  Dimly  I 
saw  a  peri  waving  a  fan,  making  a  breeze  scented  with 
ineffable  fragrance. 

I  was  then  a  giant,  prone  in  an  endless  ease,  who 
stretched  from  the  waterfall  at  the  topmost  point  of  the 
valley  to  the  shore  of  the  sea,  and  about  me  ran  in  many 
futile  excitements  the  natives  of  Atuona,  small  creatures 
whose  concerns  were  naught  to  me. 

That  vision  melted  after  eons,  and  I  was  in  the  Oti 
dance  in  the  Paumotas,  where  those  old  women  who 
pose  and  move  by  the  music  of  the  drums,  in  the  light  of 
the  burning  cocoanut  husks,  leap  into  the  air  and  remain 
so  long  that  the  white  man  thinks  he  sees  the  law  of 
gravitation  overcome,  remaining  fixed  in  space  three  or 
four  feet  from  the  ground  while  one's  heart  beats  madly 
and  one's  brain  throbs  in  bewilderment.  I  was  among 
these  aged  women ;  I  surpassed  them  all,  and  floated  at 
will  upon  the  ether  in  an  eternal  witches'  dance  of  more 
than  human  delight. 

The  orchestra  of  nature  began  a  symphony  of  celestial 
sounds.  The  rustling  of  the  palm-leaves,  the  purling 
of  the  brook,  and  the  song  of  the  komoko,  nightingale  of 
the  Marquesas,  mingled  in  music  sweeter  to  my  kava- 
ravished  ears  than  ever  the  harp  of  Apollo  upon  Mount 
Olympus.  The  chants  of  the  natives  were  a  choir  of 
voices  melodious  beyond  human  imaginings.  Life  was 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  213 

good  to  its  innermost  core;  there  was  no  struggle,  no 
pain,  only  an  eternal  harmony  of  joy. 

I  slept  eight  hours,  and  when  I  awoke  I  saw,  in  the 
bright  oblong  of  sunlight  outside  the  open  door,  Kivi 
squeezing  some  of  the  root  of  evil  for  a  hair  of  the  hound 
that  had  bitten  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  journey  to  Taaoa;   Kahuiti,  the   cannibal  chief,  and  his   story  of   an 
old  war  caused  by  an  unfaithful  woman. 

IT  was  a  chance  remark  from  Mouth  of  God  that 
led  me  to  take  a  journey  over  the  hills  to  the  valley 
of  Taaoa,  south  of  Atuona.  Malicious  Gossip 
and  her  husband,  squatting  one  evening  on  my  mats  in 
the  light  of  the  stars,  spoke  of  the  Marquesan  custom  in 
naming  children. 

"When  a  babe  is  born,"  said  Mouth  of  God,  "all  the 
intimates  of  his  parents,  their  relatives  and  friends,  be- 
stow a  name  upon  the  infant.  All  these  names  refer  to 
experiences  of  the  child's  ancestors,  or  of  the  namers, 
or  of  their  ancestors.  My  wife's  names — a  few  of  them 
— are  Tavahi  Teikimoetetua  Tehaupiimouna.  These 
words  are  separate,  having  no  relation  one  to  another, 
and  they  mean  Malicious  Gossip,  She  Sleeps  with 
God,  The  Golden  Dews  of  the  Mountain. 

"My  first  three  names  are  Vahatetua  Heeafia 
Timeteo.  Vahatetua  is  Mouth  of  God;  Heeafia,  One 
Who  Looks  About,  and  Timeteo  is  Marquesan  for 
Timothee,  the  Bible  writer. 

"My  uncle,  the  Catechist,  is  Tioakoekoe,  Man  Whose 
Entrails  Were  Roasted  on  a  Stick,  and  his  brother  is 
called  Pootuhatuha,  meaning  Sliced  and  Distributed. 
That  is  because  their  father,  Tufetu,  was  killed  at  the 
Stinking  Springs  in  Taaoa,  and  was  cooked  and  sent  all 

214 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  215 

over  that  valley.  You  should  see  that  man  who  killed 
him,  Kahuiti!  He  is  a  great  man,  and  strong  still, 
though  old.  He  likes  the  'long  pig'  still,  also.  It  is 
not  long  since  he  dug  up  the  corpse  of  one  buried,  and 
ate  it  in  the  forest." 

When  I  said  that  I  should  indeed  like  to  see  that  man, 
Mouth  of  God  said  that  he  would  send  a  word  of  intro- 
duction that  should  insure  for  me  the  friendliness  of 
the  chief  who  had  devoured  his  grandfather.  Mouth  of 
God  bore  the  diner  no  ill-will.  The  eating  was  a  thing 
accomplished  in  the  past;  the  teachings  of  that  stern 
Calvinist,  his  mother,  forbade  that  he  should  eat  Kahuiti 
in  retaliation,  therefore  their  relations  were  amicable. 

The  following  morning,  attended  by  the  faithful  Ex- 
ploding Eggs,  I  set  out  toward  Taaoa  Valley.  The 
way  was  all  up  and  down,  five  miles,  wading  through 
marshy  places  and  streams,  parting  the  jungle,  caught 
by  the  thorns  and  dripping  with  sweat.  Miles  of  it  was 
through  cocoanut  forests  owned  by  the  mission. 

The  road  followed  the  sea  and  climbed  over  a  lofty 
little  cape,  Otupoto,  from  which  the  coast  of  Hiva-oa,  as 
it  curves  eastward,  was  unrolled,  the  valleys  mysterious 
caverns  in  the  torn,  convulsed  panorama,  gloomy  gullies 
suggestive  of  the  old  bloody  days.  Above  them  the 
mountains  caught  the  light  and  shone  green  or  black 
under  the  cloudless  blue  sky.  Seven  valleys  we  counted, 
the  distant  ones  mere  faint  shadows  in  the  expanse  of 
varied  green,  divided  by  the  rocky  headlands.  To  the 
right,  as  we  faced  the  sea,  was  the  point  of  Teaehoa  jut- 
ting out  into  the  great  blue  plain  of  the  ocean,  and  land- 
ward we  looked  down  on  the  Valley  of  Taaoa. 

This  was  the  middle  place,  the  scene  of  Tufetu's 


216  WHITE  SHADOWS 

violent  end.  A  great  splotch  of  red  gleamed  as  a  blot 
of  blood  on  the  green  floor  of  the  hollow. 

"Vai  piau!"  said  Exploding  Eggs.  He  made  a  sign 
of  lifting  water  in  his  hands,  of  tasting  and  spitting  it 
out.  The  Stinking  Springs  where  Tufetu  was  slain! 

They  were  in  a  fantastic  gorge,  through  which  ran  a 
road  blasted  from  solid  rock,  stained  brown  and  blue  by 
the  minerals  in  the  water  that  bubbled  there  and  had 
carved  the  stone  in  eccentric  patterns.  Bicarbonate  of 
soda  and  sulphur  thickened  the  heavy  air  and  encrusted 
the  edges  of  the  spring  with  yellow  scum.  A  fitting 
scene  for  a  deadly  battle,  amid  smells  of  sulphur  and 
brimstone !  But  it  was  no  place  in  which  to  linger  on  a 
tropic  day. 

Taaoa  Valley  was  narrow  and  deep,  buried  in  per- 
petual gloom  by  the  shadows  of  the  mountains.  Per- 
haps thirty  houses  lined  the  banks  of  a  swift  and  rocky 
torrent.  As  we  approached  them  we  were  met  by  a 
sturdy  Taaoan,  bare  save  for  the  pareu  and  handsomely 
tattooed.  His  name,  he  said,  was  Strong  in  Battle,  and 
I,  a  stranger,  must  see  first  of  all  a  tree  of  wonder  that 
lay  in  the  forest  nearby. 

Through  brush  and  swamp  we  searched  for  it,  past 
scores  of  ruined  paepaes,  homes  of  the  long-dead  thou- 
sands. We  found  it  at  length,  a  mighty  tree  felled  to 
the  earth  and  lying  half -buried  in  vine  and  shrub. 

"This  tree  is  older  than  our  people,"  said  Strong  in 
Battle,  mournfully  regarding  its  prostrate  length. 
"No  man  ever  remembered  its  beginning.  It  was  like  a 
house  upon  a  hill,  so  high  and  big.  Our  forefathers 
worshipped  their  gods  under  it.  The  white  men  cut  it 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  217 

to  make  planks.  That  was  fifty  years  ago,  but  the 
wood  never  dies.  There  is  no  wood  like  it  in  the  Mar- 
quesas. The  wise  men  say  that  it  will  endure  till  the 
last  of  our  race  is  gone. 

I  felt  the  end  of  the  great  trunk,  where  the  marks  of 
the  axe  and  saw  still  showed,  and  struck  it  with  my  fist. 
The  wood  did  indeed  seem  hard  as  iron,  though  it 
seemed  not  to  be  petrified.  So  far  as  I  could  ascertain 
from  the  fallen  trunk,  it  was  of  a  species  I  had  never 
seen. 

"Twenty  years  ago  I  brought  a  man  of  Peretane 
(England)  here  to  see  this  tree,  and  he  cut  off  a  piece  to 
take  away.  No  white  man  has  looked  on  it  since  that 
time,"  said  Strong  in  Battle.  He  brought  an  axe  from 
a  man  who  was  dubbing  out  a  canoe  from  a  breadfruit 
log,  and  hacked  away  a  chip  for  me. 

We  returned  to  the  village  and  entered  an  enclosure 
in  which  a  group  of  women  were  squatting  around  a 
popoi  bowl. 

"What  does  the  Menike  seek?"  they  asked. 

"He  wants  to  see  the  footprint  of  Hoouiti,"  said  my 
guide. 

On  one  of  the  stones  of  the  paepae  was  a  footprint, 
perfect  from  heel  to  toe,  and  evidently  not  artificially 
made. 

"Hoouiti  stood  here  when  he  hurled  his  spear  across 
the  island,"  said  Strong  in  Battle.  "He  was  not  a  big 
man,  as  you  see  by  his  foot's  mark." 

"Fifteen  kilometers!  A  long  hurling  of  a  spear," 
said  I. 

"Aue!  he  was  very  strong.     He  lived  on  this  paepae. 


218  WHITE  SHADOWS 

These  whom  you  see  are  his  children's  children.  Would 
you  like  to  meet  my  wife's  father-in-law,  Kahuiti  ?  He 
has  eaten  many  people.  He  talks  well." 

Eo!  Would  I !  I  vowed  that  I  would  be  honored  by 
the  acquaintance  of  any  of  the  relatives  of  my  host,  and 
specially  I  desired  to  converse  with  old,  wise  men  of 
good  taste. 

"That  man,  Kahauiti,  has  seen  life,"  said  Strong  in 
Battle.  "I  am  married  to  the  sister  of  Great  Night 
Moth,  who  was  a  very  brave  and  active  man,  but  now 
foolish.  But  Kahauiti !  O!O!O!Ai!Ai!Ai!  There 
he  is." 

I  never  solved  the  puzzle  of  my  informant's  relation 
to  the  man  who  was  his  wife's  father-in-law,  for  sud- 
denly I  saw  the  man  himself,  and  knew  that  I  was  meet- 
ing a  personage.  Kahauiti  was  on  the  veranda  of  a 
small  hut,  sitting  Turk  fashion,  and  chatting  with  an- 
other old  man.  Both  of  them  were  striking-looking, 
but,  all  in  all,  I  thought  Kahauiti  the  most  distinguished 
man  in  appearance  that  I  had  seen,  be  it  in  New  York 
or  Cairo,  London  or  Pekin. 

He  had  that  indefinable,  yet  certain,  air  of  superiority, 
of  assured  position  and  knowledge,  that  stamps  a  few 
men  in  the  world — a  Yuan  Shih  Kai,  Rabindranath 
Tagore,  Sitting  Bull,  and  Porfirio  Diaz.  He  wore  only 
a  pareu,  and  was  tattooed  from  toenails  to  hair-roots. 
A  solid  mass  of  coloring  extended  from  his  neck  to  the 
hip  on  the  left  side,  as  though  he  wore  half  of  a  blue 
shirt.  The  tahuna  who  had  done  the  work  seemed  to 
have  drawn  outlines  and  then  blocked  in  the  half  of  his 
torso.  But  remembering  that  every  pin-point  of  color 
had  meant  the  thrust  of  a  bone  needle  propelled  by  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  219 

blow  of  a  mallet,  I  realized  that  Kahauiti  had  endured 
much  for  his  decorations.  No  iron  or  Victoria  Cross 
could  cost  more  suffering. 

The  bare  half  of  his  bosom,  cooperish-red,  contrasted 
with  this  cobalt,  and  his  face  was  striped  alternately 
with  this  natural  color  and  with  blue.  Two  inches  of 
the  ama  ink  ran  across  the  eyes  from  ear  to  ear,  covering 
every  inch  of  lid  and  eyebrow,  and  from  this  seeming 
bandage  his  eyes  gleamed  with  quick  and  alert  intelli- 
gence. Other  stripes  crossed  the  face  from  temple  to 
chin,  the  lowest  joining  the  field  of  blue  that  stretched  to 
his  waist. 

His  beard,  long,  heavy,  -and  snow-white,  swept  down- 
ward over  the  indigo  flesh  and  was  gathered  into  a  knot 
on  his  massive  chest.  It  was  the  beard  of  a  prophet  or 
a  seer,  and  when  Kahauiti  rose  to  his  full  height,  six 
feet  and  a  half,  he  was  as  majestic  as  a  man  in  diadem 
and  royal  robes.  He  had  a  giant  form,  like  one  of 
Buonarroti's  ancients,  muscular  and  supple,  graceful 
and  erect. 

When  I  was  presented  as  a  Menike  who  loved  the 
Marquesans  and  who,  having  heard  of  Kahauiti,  would 
drink  of  his  fountain  of  recollections,  the  old  man  looked 
at  me  intently.  His  eyes  twinkled  and  he  opened  his 
mouth  in  a  broad  smile,  showing  all  his  teeth,  sound  and 
white.  His  smile  was  kindly,  disarming,  of  a  real 
sweetness  that  conquered  me  immediately,  so  that,  fool- 
ishly perhaps,  I  would  have  trusted  him  if  he  had  sug- 
gested a  stroll  in  the  jungle. 

He  took  my  extended  hand,  but  did  not  shake  it.  So 
new  is  handshaking  and  so  foreign  to  their  ideas  of 
greeting,  that  they  merely  touch  fingers,  with  the  pres- 


220  WHITE  SHADOWS 

sure  a  rich  man  giver  a  poor  relation,  or  a  king,  a  com- 
moner. His  affability  was  that  of  a  monarch  to  a 
courtier,  but  when  he  began  to  talk  he  soon  became  sim- 
ple and  merry. 

Motioning  me  to  a  seat  on  the  mat  before  him,  he 
squatted  again  in  a  dignified  manner,  and  resumed  his 
task  of  plaiting  a  rope  of  faufee  bark,  a  rope  an  inch 
thick  and  perfectly  made. 

"Mouth  of  God,  of  the  family  of  Sliced  and  Dis- 
tributed and  Man  Whose  Entrails  Were  Roasted  On  A 
Stick,  has  told  me  of  the  slaying  of  Tufetu,  their  an- 
cestor," I  ventured,  to  steer  our  bark  of  conversation 
into  the  channel  I  sought. 

At  the  names  of  the  first  three,  Kahauiti  smiled,  but 
when  Tufetu  was  mentioned,  he  broke  into  a  roar.  I 
had  evidently  recalled  proud  memories.  On  his 
haunches,  he  slid  nearer  to  me. 

"Aju!  Afu!  Afu!"  he  said,  the  sound  that  in  his 
tongue  means  the  groan  of  the  dying.  "You  came  by 
the  FatueU?" 

"I  tasted  the  water  and  smelled  the  smell,"  I 
answered. 

"It  was  there  that  Tufetu  died,"  he  observed.  "I 
struck  the  blow,  and  I  ate  his  arm,  his  right  arm,  for 
he  was  brave  and  strong.  That  was  a  war!" 

"What  caused  that  war?"  I  asked  the  merry  cannibal. 

"A  woman,  haa  teketeka,  an  unfaithful  woman,  as 
always,"  replied  Kahauiti.  "Do  you  have  trouble  over 
women  in  your  island?  Yes.  It  is  the  same  the  world 
over.  There  was  peace  between  Atuona  and  Taaoa  be- 
fore this  trouble.  When  I  was  a  boy  we  were  good 
friends.  We  visited  across  the  hills.  Many  children 


3     §T 

*    ?r 


A  tattooed  Marquesan  with  carved  canoe  paddle 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  221 

were  adopted,  and  Taaoa  men  took  women  from 
Atuona,  and  Atuona  men  from  here.  Some  of  these 
women  had  two  or  three  or  five  men.  One  husband  was 
the  father  of  her  children  in  title  and  pride,  though  he 
might  be  no  father  at  all.  The  others  shared  the  mat 
with  her  at  her  will,  but  had  no  possession  or  happiness 
in  the  offspring. 

"Now  Pepehi  (Beaten  to  Death)  was  of  Taaoa,  but 
lived  in  Atuona  with  a  woman.  He  had  followed  her 
over  the  hills  and  lived  in  her  house.  He  was  father  to 
her  children.  There  was  a  man  of  Atuona,  Kahuetahi, 
who  was  husband  to  her,  but  of  lower  rank.  He  was 
not  father  to  her  children.  Therefore  one  night  he 
swung  his  war-club  upon  the  head  of  Beaten  to  Death, 
and  later  invited  a  number  of  friends  to  the  feast." 

Kahuiti  smiled  gently  upon  me.  Take  off  his  tattoo- 
ing, make  him  white,  and  clothe  him !  With  his  master- 
ful carriage,  his  soft,  cultivated  voice,  and  his  attitude 
of  absolutism,  he  might  have  been  Leopold,  King  of  the 
Belgians,  a  great  ambassador,  a  man  of  power  in  finance. 
Nevertheless,  I  thought  of  the  death  by  the  Stinking 
Springs.  How  could  one  explain  his  benign,  open- 
souled  deportment  and  his  cheery  laugh,  with  such 
damnable  appetites  and  actions?  Yet  generals  send 
ten  thousand  men  to  certain  and  agonized  death  to  gain 
a  point  toward  a  goal;  that  is  the  custom  of  generals, 
by  which  they  gain  honor  among  their  people. 

"Killed  by  the  war-club  of  Kaheutahi  and  eaten  by 
his  friends,  Beaten  to  Death  was  but  a  ghost,  and 
Kaheutahi  took  his  place  and  became  father  of  the  chil- 
dren of  the  house.  He  said  they  were  his  in  fact,  but 
men  were  ever  boastful." 


222  WHITE  SHADOWS 

The  other  old  man,  who  said  nothing,  but  was  all  at- 
tention, lit  a  pipe  and  passed  it  to  Kahuiti,  who  puffed 
it  a  moment  and  passed  it  to  Strong  in  Battle.  The  tale 
lapsed  for  a  smoking  spell. 

"Beaten  to  Death  perished  by  the  club  ?  He  was  well 
named,"  said  I.  "His  father  was  a  prophet." 

Kahuiti  began  to  chant  in  a  weird  monotone. 

"Vat  Fa!  A  tahi  a  ta!  Fa!  A  tahi  va!  A  ua  va!  A  ton 
va!"  was  his  chant.  "Thus  said  the  war-club  as  it 
crashed  on  the  skull  of  Beaten  to  Death.  That  is  the 
speech  of  the  war-club  when  it  strikes.  The  bones  of 
Beaten  to  Death  were  fishhooks  before  we  knew  of  his 
death.  All  Taaoa  was  angry.  The  family  of  Beaten 
to  Death  demanded  vengeance.  The  priest  went  into 
the  High  Place,  and  when  he  came  out  he  ran  all  day 
up  and  down  the  valley,  until  he  fell  foaming.  War 
was  the  cry  of  the  gods,  war  against  Atuona. 

"But  there  was  too  much  peace  between  us,  too  many 
men  with  Atuona  women,  too  many  Atuona  children 
adopted  by  Taaoa  women.  The  peace  was  happy,  and 
there  was  no  great  warrior  to  urge." 

"You  had  brave  men  and  strong  men  then,"  I  said, 
with  a  sigh  for  the  things  I  had  missed  by  coming  late. 

"Tuitui!  You  put  weeds  in  my  mouth!"  exclaimed 
Kahuiti.  "I  cannot  talk  with  your  words.  Ue  te  etau! 
By  the  great  god  of  the  dead!  I  am  born  before  the 
French  beached  a  canoe  in  the  Marquesas.  Our  gods 
were  gods  then,  but  they  turned  to  wood  and  stone  when 
the  tree-guns  of  the  Farani  roared  and  threw  iron  balls 
and  fire  into  our  valleys.  The  Christian  god  was 
greater  than  our  gods,  and  a  bigger  killer  of  men." 

"But  Beaten  to  Death—?"  I  urged. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  223 

"Beaten  to  Death  was  in  the  stomachs  of  the  men  of 
Atuona,  and  they  laughed  at  us.  Our  High  Priest 
said  that  the  Euututuki,  the  most  private  god  of  the 
priests,  commanded  us  to  avenge  the  eating  of  Beaten 
to  Death.  But  the  season  of  preserving  the  mei  in 
pits  was  upon  us.  Also  the  women  of  Atuona  among 
us  said  that  there  should  be  peace,  and  the  women  of 
Taaoa  who  had  taken  as  their  own  many  children  from 
Atuona.  Therefore  we  begged  the  most  high  gods  to 
excuse  us." 

"Women  had  much  power  then,"  I  said. 

Kahuiti  chuckled. 

"The  French  god  and  the  priests  of  the  Farani  have 
taken  it  from  them,"  he  commented.  "I  have  known 
the  day  when  women  ruled.  She  had  her  husbands, — 
two,  four,  five.  She  commanded.  She  would  send  two 
to  the  fishing,  one  to  gathering  cocoanuts  or  wood,  one 
she  would  keep  to  amuse  her.  They  came  and  went  as 
she  said.  That  was  mea  pel  Sickening!  Peel  There 
are  not  enough  men  to  make  a  woman  happy.  Many 
brave  men  have  died  to  please  their  woman,  but — " 
He  blew  out  his  breath  in  contempt. 

Strong  in  Battle  said  aside,  in  French : 

"He  was  never  second  in  the  house.  Kahauiti  de- 
spised such  men.  He  was  first  always." 

"So  the  slaying  of  Beaten  to  Death  was  unavenged?" 
I  asked. 

"Epo!  Do  not  drink  the  cocoanut  till  you  have 
descended  the  tree!  I  have  said  the  warriors  were 
withheld  by  the  women,  and  there  was  no  great  man  to 
lead.  Yet  the  drums  beat  at  night,  and  the  fighting 
men  came.  You  know  how  the  drums  speak?" 


224  WHITE  SHADOWS 

His  face  clouded,  and  his  eyes  flashed  against  their 
foil  of  tattooing. 

"  fOhe  te  pepe!  Ohe  te  pepel  Ohe  te  pepef  said 
the  drum  called  Peepee.  'Titiutiuti!  Titiutiuti!'  said 
the  drum  called  Umi.  Auel  Then  the  warriors  came ! 
They  stood  in  the  High  Place  at  the  head  of  the  valley. 
Mehitete,  the  chief,  spoke  to  them.  He  said  that  they 
should  go  to  Atuona,  and  bring  back  bodies  for  feasting. 
Many  nights  the  drums  beat,  and  the  chief  talked  much, 
but  there  was  no  war. 

"The  High  Priest  went  to  the  Pekla  again,  and  when 
he  came  away  he  ran  without  stopping  for  two  days 
and  a  night,  till  he  fell  without  breath,  as  one  dead, 
and  foam  was  on  his  mouth.  The  gods  were  angry. 
Still  there  was  no  war. 

"Then  came  Tomefitu  from  Vait-hua.  He  was  chief 
of  that  valley,  having  been  adopted  by  a  woman  of 
Vait-hua,  but  his  father  and  his  mother  were  of  Taaoa. 
He  had  heard  of  the  slaying  of  Beaten  to  Death,  his 
kinsman,  and  he  was  hot  in  the  bowels.  Auel  The 
thunder  of  the  heavens  was  as  the  voice  of  Tom.efitu 
when  angered.  The  earth  groaned  where  he  walked. 
He  knew  the  Farani  and  their  tricks.  He  had  guns 
from  the  whalers,  and  he  was  afraid  of  nothing  save 
the  Ghost  Woman  of  the  Night.  Again  the  warriors 
came  to  the  High  Place,  and  now  there  were  many 
drums." 

Kahuiti  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  struck  the  corner 
post  of  the  hut  with  his  fist.  His  eyes  burned. 

"  'Kaputuhe !  Kaputuhe !  Kaputuhe ! 
Teputuhe !  Teputuhe !  Teputuhe ! 
Tuti !  Tuti !  Tutuituiti !' 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  225 

"That  was  what  the  war  drums  said.  The  sound  of 
them  rolled  from  the  Pekia,  and  every  man  who  could 
throw  a  spear  or  hold  a  war-club  came  to  their  call." 

Kahuiti's  soul  was  rapt  in  the  story.  His  voice  had 
the  deep  tone  of  the  violoncello,  powerful,  vibrant,  and 
colorful.  He  had  lived  in  that  strange  past,  and  the 
things  he  recalled  were  precious  memories. 

The  sound  of  the  drums,  as  he  echoed  them  in  the 
curious  tone-words  of  Marquesan,  thrilled  me  through. 
I  heard  the  booming  of  the  ten-foot  war-drums,  their 
profound  and  far-reaching  call  like  the  roaring  of  lions 
in  the  jungle.  I  saw  the  warriors  with  their  spears  of 
cocoanut-wood  and  their  deadly  clubs  of  ironwood 
carved  and  shining  with  oil,  their  baskets  of  polished 
stones  slung  about  their  waists,  and  their  slings  of  fiber, 
dancing  in  the  sacred  grove  of  the  Pekia,  its  shadows 
lighted  by  the  blaze  of  the  flickering  candlenuts  and  the 
scented  sandalwood. 

"  'I  am  The  Wind  That  Lays  Low  The  Mighty  Tree. 
I  am  The  Wave  That  Fills  The  Canoe  and  Delivers  The 
People  To  The  Sharks!'  said  Tomefitu.  'The  flesh  of 
my  kinsman  fills  the  bellies  of  the  men  of  Atuona,  and 
the  gods  say  war! 

'  'There  is  war!'  said  Tomefitu.  'We  must  bring 
offerings  to  the  gods.  Five  men  will  go  with  me  to 
Otoputo  and  bring  back  the  gifts.  I  will  bring  back  to 
you  the  bodies  of  six  of  the  Atuona  pigs.  Prepare! 
When  we  have  eaten,  the  chiefs  of  Atuona  will  come  to 
Taaoa,  and  then  you  will  fight ! 

"  'Make  ready  with  dancing.  Polish  spears  and 
gather  stones  for  the  slings.  Koe,  who  is  my  man,  will  be 
obeyed  while  I  am  gone.  I  have  spoken,'  said  Tomefitu. 


226  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"That  night  Tomefitu  and  I,  with  four  others,  went 
silently  to  Otoputo,  the  dividing  rock  that  looks  down 
on  the  right  into  the  valley  of  Taaoa  and  on  the  left  into 
Atuona.  There  we  lay  among  rocks  and  bushes  and 
spied  upon  the  feet  of  the  enemy.  That  man  who  sepa- 
rated himself  from  others  and  came  our  way  to  seek 
food,  or  to  visit  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  him  we  secretly 
fell  upon,  and  slew. 

"Thus  we  did  to  the  six  named  by  Tomefitu,  and  as  we 
killed  them,  we  sent  them  back  by  others  to  the  High 
Place.  There  the  warriors  feasted  upon  them  and 
gained  strength  for  battle. 

"Then,  missing  so  many  of  their  clan,  the  head  men  of 
Atuona  came  to  Otoputo,  and  shouted  to  us  to  give 
word  of  the  absent.  We  shouted  back,  saying  that 
those  men  had  been  roasted  upon  the  fire  and  eaten,  and 
that  thus  we  would  do  to  all  men  of  Atuona.  And  we 
laughed  at  them." 

Kahuiti  emitted  a  hearty  guffaw  at  thought  of  the 
trick  played  upon  those  devoured  enemies. 

"But  Tufetu,  the  grandfather  of  my  friend  Mouth 
of  God?"  I  persisted. 

"Epo!  There  was  war.  The  men  of  Atuona  gath- 
ered at  Otupoto,  and  rushed  down  upon  us.  We  met 
them  at  the  Stinking  Springs,  and  there  I  killed  Tufetu, 
uncle  of  Sliced  and  Distributed  and  Man  Whose  En- 
trails Were  Roasted  On  A  Stick.  I  pierced  him 
through  with  my  spear  at  a  cocoanut-tree's  length  away. 
I  was  the  best  spear-thrower  of  Taaoa.  We  drove  the 
Atuonans  through  the  gorge  of  the  Stinking  Springs 
and  over  the  divide,  and  I  ate  the  right  arm  of  Tufetu 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  227 

that  had  wielded  the  war-club.  That  gives  a  man  the 
strength  of  his  enemy." 

He  turned  again  to  plaiting  the  rope  of  faufee. 

efO  ia  aneihe,  I  have  finished,"  he  said.  "Will  you 
drink  kava?" 

"No,  I  will  not  drink  kava,"  I  said  sternly.  "Ka- 
huiti,  is  it  not  good  that  the  eating  of  men  is  stopped?" 

The  majestic  chief  looked  at  me,  his  deep  brown  eyes 
looking  child-like  in  their  band  of  blue  ink.  For  ten 
seconds  he  stared  at  me  fixedly,  and  then  smiled  uncer- 
tainly, as  may  have  Peter  the  fisherman  when  he  was 
chided  for  cutting  off  the  ear  of  one  of  Judas'  soldiers. 
He  was  of  the  old  order,  and  the  new  had  left  him  un- 
changed. He  did  not  reply  to  my  question,  but  sipped 
his  bowl  of  kava. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

The  crime  of  Huahine  for  love  of  Weaver  of  Mats;  story  of  Tahia's  white 
man  who  was  eaten;  the  disaster  that  befell  Honi,  the  white  man  who 
used  his  harpoon  against  his  friends. 

DURING  my  absence  in  Taaoa  there  had  been 
crime  and  scandal  in  my  own  valley.  Andre 
Bauda  met  me  on  the  beach  road  as  I  returned 
and  told  me  the  tale.  The  giant  Tahitian  sailor  of  the 
schooner  Papeite,  Huahine,  was  in  the  local  jail,  charged 
with  desertion;  a  serious  offense,  to  which  his  plea  was 
love  of  a  woman,  and  that  woman  Weaver  of  Mats,  who 
had  her  four  names  tattooed  on  her  right  arm. 

Huahine,  seeing  her  upon  the  beach,  had  felt  a  flame 
of  love  that  nerved  him  to  risk  hungry  shark  and  bat- 
tering surf.  Carried  from  her  even  in  the  moment  of 
meeting,  he  had  resisted  temptation  until  the  schooner 
was  sailing  outside  the  Bay  of  Traitors,  running  before 
a  breeze  to  the  port  of  Tai-o-hae,  and  then  he  had  flung 
himself  naked  into  the  sea  and  taken  the  straight  course 
back  to  Atuona,  reaching  his  sweetheart  after  a  seven- 
hour's  struggle  with  current  and  breaker.  Flag,  the 
gendarme,  found  him  in  her  hut,  and  brought  him  to 
the  calaboose. 

The  following  morning  I  attended  his  trial.  He 
came  before  his  judge  elegantly  dressed,  for,  besides  a 
red  pareu  about  his  middle,  he  wore  a  pink  silk  shawl 
over  his  shoulders.  Both  were  the  gift  of  Weaver  of 
Mats,  as  he  had  come  to  her  without  scrip  or  scrap.  He 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  229 

needed  little  clothing,  as  his  skin  was  very  brown  and 
his  strong  body  magnificent. 

He  was  an  acceptable  prisoner  to  Bauda,  who  had 
charge  of  the  making  and  repair  of  roads  and  bridges, 
so  Huahine  was  quickly  sentenced  and  put  to  work  with 
others  who  were  paying  their  taxes  by  labor.  Weaver 
of  Mats  moved  with  him  to  the  prison,  where  they  lived 
together  happily,  cooking  their  food  in  the  garden  and 
sleeping  on  mats  beneath  the  palms. 

On  all  the  paepaes  it  was  said  that  Huahine  would 
probably  be  sent  to  Tahiti,  as  there  are  strict  laws 
against  deserting  ships  and  against  vagabondage  in  the 
Marquesas.  Meantime  the  prisoner  was  happy. 
Many  a  Tahitian  and  white  sailor  gazes  toward  these 
islands  as  a  haven  from  trouble,  and  in  Huahine's  ex- 
ploit I  read  the  story  of  many  a  poor  white  who  in  the 
early  days  cast  away  home  and  friends  and  arduous  toil 
to  dwell  here  in  a  breadfruity  harem. 

"There  is  a  tale  told  long  ago  by  a  man  of  Hanamenu 
to  a  traveler  named  Christian,"  I  said  to  Haabunai,  the 
carver,  while  we  sat  rolling  pandanus  cigarettes  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening.  "It  runs  thus : 

"Some  thirty  years  ago  a  sailor  from  a  trading 
schooner  that  had  put  into  the  bay  for  sandalwood  was 
badly  treated  by  his  skipper,  who  refused  him  shore- 
leave.  So,  his  bowels  hot  with  anger,  this  sailor  deter- 
mined to  desert  his  hard  and  unthanked  toil,  wed  some 
island  heiress,  and  live  happy  ever  after.  Therefore 
one  evening  he  swam  ashore,  found  a  maid  to  his  liking, 
and  was  hidden  by  her  until  the  ship  departed. 

"Now  Tahia  was  a  good  wife,  and  loved  her  beautiful 
white  man ;  all  that  a  wife  could  do  she  did,  cooking  his 


230  WHITE  SHADOWS 

food,  bathing  his  feet,  rolling  cigarettes  for  him  all  day 
long  as  he  lay  upon  the  mats.  But  her  father  in  time 
became  troubled,  and  there  was  grumbling  among  the 
people,  for  the  white  man  would  not  work. 

"He  would  not  climb  the  palm  to  bring  down  the 
nuts;  he  lay  and  laughed  on  his  paepae  in  the  Meinui, 
the  season  of  breadfruit,  when  all  were  busy ;  and  when 
they  brought  him  rusty  old  muskets  to  care  for,  he 
turned  his  back  upon  them.  Sometimes  he  fished,  go- 
ing out  in  a  canoe  that  Tahia  paddled,  and  making  her 
fix  the  bait  on  the  hook,  but  he  caught  few  fish. 

"  fAue  te  hanahana,  aua  ho'i  te  kaikaif  said  his  father- 
in-law.  'He  who  will  not  labor,  neither  shall  he  eat.' 
But  the  white  man  laughed  and  ate  and  labored  not. 

"A  season  passed  and  another,  and  there  came  a  time 
of  little  rain.  The  bananas  were  few,  and  the  bread- 
fruit were  not  plentiful.  One  evening,  therefore,  the 
old  men  met  in  conference,  and  this  was  their  decision: 
'Rats  are  becoming  a  nuisance,  and  we  will  abate  them.' 

"Next  morning  the  father  sent  Tahia  on  an  errand  to 
another  valley.  Then  men  began  to  dig  a  large  oven  in 
the  earth  before  Tahia's  house,  where  the  white  man  lay 
on  the  mats  at  ease.  Presently  he  looked  and  wondered 
and  looked  again.  And  at  length  he  rose  and  came 
down  to  the  oven,  saying,  'What's  up?' 

"  'Plenty  kaikai.     Big  pig  come  by  and  by,'  they  said. 

"So  he  stood  waiting  while  they  dug,  and  no  pig  came. 
Then  he  said,  'Where  is  the  pig?'  And  at  that  moment 
the  u'u  crashed  upon  his  skull,  so  that  he  fell  without  life 
and  lay  in  the  oven.  Wood  was  piled  about  him,  and 
he  was  baked,  and  there  was  feasting  in  Hanamenu. 

"In  the  twilight  Tahia  came  over  the  hills,  weary  and 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  231 

hungry,  and  asked  for  her  white  man.  'He  has  gone  to 
the  beach,'  they  said. 

"  'He  will  return  soon,  therefore  sit  and  eat,  my 
daughter,'  said  her  father,  and  gave  her  the  meat 
wrapped  in  leaves.  So  she  ate  heartily,  and  waited  for 
her  husband.  And  all  the  feasters  laughed  at  her,  so 
that  little  by  little  she  learned  the  truth.  She  said  noth- 
ing, but  went  away  in  the  darkness. 

"And  it  is  written,  Haabunai,  that  searchers  for  the 
ma  came  upon  her  next  day  in  the  upper  valley,  and  she 
was  hanging  from  a  tall  palm-tree  with  a  rope  of  purau 
about  her  neck." 

"That  may  be  a  true  story,"  said  Haabunai. 
"Though  it  is  the  custom  here  to  eat  the  eva  when  one 
is  made  sick  by  life.  And  very  few  white  men  were 
ever  eaten  in  the  islands,  because  they  knew  too  much 
and  were  claimed  by  some  woman  of  power1."  He 
paused  for  a  moment  to  puff  his  cigarette. 

"Now  there  was  a  sailor  whom  my  grandfather  ate, 
and  he  was  white.  But  there  was  ample  cause  for  that, 
for  never  was  a  man  so  provoking. 

"He  was  a  harpooner  on  a  whale-ship,  a  man  who  made 
much  money,  but  he  liked  rum,  and  when  his  ship  left  he 
stayed  behind.  They  sent  two  boats  ashore  and 
searched  for  him,  but  my  grandfather  sent  my  father 
with  him  into  the  hills,  and  after  three  days  the  cap- 
tain thought  he  had  been  drowned,  and  sailed  away  with- 
out him. 

"My  grandfather  gave  him  my  father's  sister  to  wife, 
and  like  that  man  of  whom  you  told,  he  was  much  loved 
by  her,  though  he  would  do  nothing  but  make  namu 
enata  and  drink  it  and  dance  and  sleep.  Grandfather 


232  WHITE  SHADOWS 

said  that  he  could  dance  strange  dances  of  the  sailor  that 
made  them  all  laugh  until  their  ribs  were  sore. 

"This  man,  whose  name  was  Honi — " 

"Honi?"  said  I.     "I  do  not  know  that  word." 

"Nor  I.  It  is  not  Marquesan.  It  was  his  name,  that 
he  bore  on  the  ship." 

"Honi?"  I  repeated  incredulously,  and  then  light 
broke.  "You  mean  Jones?" 

"It  may  be.  I  do  not  know.  Honi  was  his  name,  as 
my  grandfather  said  it.  And  this  Honi  had  brought 
from  the  whale-ship  a  gun  and  a  harpoon.  This  har- 
poon had  a  head  of  iron  and  was  fixed  on  a  spear,  with  a 
long  rope  tied  to  the  head,  so  that  when.it  was  thrust  into 
the  whale  he  was  fastened  to  the  boat  that  pursued  him 
through  the  water.  There  was  no  weapon  like  it  on  the 
island,  and  it  was  much  admired. 

"Honi  fought  with  us  when  our  tribe,  the  Papuaei, 
went  to  war  with  the  Tiu  of  Taaoa.  He  used  his  gun, 
and  with  it  he  won  many  battles,  until  he  had  killed  so 
many  of  the  enemy  that  they  asked  for  peace.  Honi 
was  praised  by  our  tribe,  and  a  fine  house  was  built  for 
him  near  the  river,  in  the  place  where  eels  and  shrimp 
were  best. 

"In  this  large  house  he  drank  more  than  in  the  other 
smaller  one.  He  used  his  gun  to  kill  pigs  and  even 
birds.  My  grandfather  reproved  him  for  wasting  the 
powder,  when  pigs  could  easily  be  killed  with  spears. 
But  Honi  would  not  listen,  and  he  continued  to  kill  until 
he  had  no  more  powder.  Then  he  quarreled  with  my 
grandfather,  and  one  day,  being  drunk,  he  tried  to  kill 
him,  and  then  fled  to  the  Kau-i-te-oho,  the  tribe  of  red- 
headed people  at  Hanahupe. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  233 

"Learning  that  Honi  was  no  longer  with  us,  the  Tiu 
tribe  of  Taaoa  declared  war  again,  and  the  red-headed 
tribe  had  an  alliance  with  them  through  their  chief's 
families  intermarrying,  so  that  Honi  fought  with  them. 
His  gun  being  without  powder,  he  took  his  harpoon,  and 
he  came  with  the  Tui  and  the  Kau-i-te-oho  to  the  divid- 
ing-line between  the  valleys  where  we  used  to  fight. 

"Where  the  precipices  reared  their  middle  points  be- 
tween the  valleys,  the  tribes  met  and  reviled  one  another. 

"'You  people  with  hair  like  cooked  shrimp!  Are 
you  ready  for  the  ovens  of  our  valley?'  cried  my  grand- 
father's warriors. 

"  'You  little  men,  who  run  so  fast,  we  have  now  your 
white  warrior  with  us,  and  you  shall  die  by  the  hun- 
dreds!' yelled  our  enemies." 

This  picture  of  the  scene  at  the  line  was  characteristic 
of  Polynesian  warfare.  It  is  almost  exactly  like  the 
meeting  of  armies  long  ago  in  Palestine  and  Syria,  and 
before  the  walls  of  Troy.  Goliath  slanged  David 
grossly,  threatening  to  give  his  body  to  the  fowls  of  the 
air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  David  retorted  in 
kind.  So,  when  Ulysses  launched  his  spear  at  Soccus, 
he  cried: 

"Ah,  wretch,  no  father  shall  they  corpse  compose, 
Thy  dying  eye  no  tender  mother  close ; 
But  hungry  birds  shall  tear  those  balls  away, 
And  hungry  vultures  scream  around  their  prey." 

"For  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said  Haabunai,  "my 
grandfather's  people  and  the  warriors  of  the  enemy 
called  thus  to  each  other  upon  the  top  of  the  cliffs,  and 
then  Honi  and  the  brother  of  my  grandfather,  head  men 
of  either  side,  advanced  to  battle. 


234  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"The  first  time  Honi  threw  his  harpoon,  he  hooked 
my  great-uncle.  He  hooked  him  through  the  middle, 
and  before  he  could  be  saved,  a  half  dozen  of  the  Tiu 
men  pulled  on  the  rope  and  dragged  him  over  the  line 
to  be  killed  and  eaten. 

"Two  more  of  our  tribe  Honi  snared  with  this  devilish 
spear,  and  it  was  not  so  much  death  as  being  pulled  over 
to  them  and  roasted  that  galled  us.  All  day  the  battle 
raged,  except  when  both  sides  stopped  by  agreement  to 
eat  popoi  and  rest,  but  late  in  the  afternoon  a  strange 
thing  happened. 

"Honi  had  thrown  his  harpoon,  and  by  bad  aim  it  en- 
tered a  tree.  The  end  of  the  line  he  had  about  his  left 
arm,  and  as  he  tried  to  pull  out  the  spear-head  from  the 
wood,  his  legs  became  entangled  in  the  rope,  and  my 
grandfather,  who  was  very  strong,  seized  the  rope  near 
the  tree,  dragged  the  white  man  over  the  line,  and  killed 
him  with  a  rock. 

"The  enemy  ran  away  then,  and  that  night  our  people 
ate  Honi.  Grandfather  said  his  flesh  was  so  tough  they 
had  to  boil  it.  There  were  Jio  tipoti  (Standard-oil 
cans)  in  those  days,  but  our  people  took  banana  leaves 
and  formed  a  big  cup  that  would  hold  a  couple  of  quarts 
of  water,  and  into  these  they  put  red-hot  stones,  and  the 
water  boiled.  Grandfather  said  they  cut  Honi  into 
small  pieces  and  boiled  him  in  many  of  these  cups.  Still 
he  was  tough,  but  nevertheless  they  ate  him. 

"Honi  was  tattooed.  Not  like  Marquesans,  but  like 
some  white  sailors,  he  had  certain  marks  on  him. 
Grandfather  saved  these  marks,  and  wore  them  as  a  tiki, 
or  amulet,  until  he  died,  when  he  gave  it  to  me.  He 
had  preserved  the  skin  so  that  it  did  not  spoil." 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  235 

Haabunai  yawned  and  said  his  mouth  was  parched 
from  much  talking,  but  when  a  shell  of  rum  was  set  be- 
fore him  and  he  had  drunk,  he  fetched  from  his  house 
the  tiki.  It  was  as  large  as  my  hand,  dark  and  with- 
ered, but  with  a  magnifying  glass  I  could  see  a  rude 
cross  and  three  letters,  I  H  S  in  blue. 

"Grandfather  became  a  Christian  and  was  no  longer 
an  enata  kaikaia,  an  eater  of  men,  but  he  kept  the  tiki  al- 
ways about  his  neck,  because  he  thought  it  gave  him 
strength,"  said  my  guest. 

I  handed  him  back  the  gruesome  relic,  though  he  be- 
gan advances  to  make  it  my  property.  For  the  full 
demijohn  he  would  have  parted  with  the  tiki  that  had 
been  his  grandfather's,  but  I  had  no  fancy  for  it.  One 
can  buy  in  Paris  purses  of  human  skin  for  not  much 
more  than  one  of  alligator  hide. 

"Honi  must  have  been  very  tough,"  I  said. 

"He  must  have  been,"  Haabunai  said  regretfully. 
"Grandfather  had  his  teeth  to  the  last.  He  would  never 
eat  a  child.  Like  all  warriors  he  preferred  for  ven- 
geance's sake  the  meat  of  another  fighter." 

He  had  not  yet  sprung  the  grim  jest  of  almost  all 
cannibalistic  narratives.  I  did  not  ask  if  Honi's  wife 
had  eaten  of  him,  as  had  Tahia  of  her  white  man.  It  is 
probable  that  she  did,  and  that  they  deceived  her.  It 
was  the  practical  joke  of  those  days. 

I  had  seen  Apporo,  my  landlady,  staggering  home- 
ward a  few  days  earlier  in  a  pitiful  state  of  intoxi- 
cation. Some  one  had  given  her  a  glass  of  mixed 
absinthe,  vermuth,  and  rum,  and  with  confidence  in 
the  giver  she  had  tossed  it  down.  That  is  the  kind 
of  joke  that  in  other  days  would  have  been  the  de- 


236  WHITE  SHADOWS 

luding  of  some  one  into  partaking  of  the  flesh  of  a  lover 
or  friend. 

Reasoning  from  our  standpoint,  it  is  easy  to  assume 
that  cannibalism  is  a  form  of  depravity  practised  by  few 
peoples,  but  this  error  is  dispelled  by  the  researches  of 
ethnologists,  who  inform  us  that  it  was  one  of  the  most 
ancient  customs  of  man  and  began  when  he  was  close 
brother  to  the  ape.  Livingstone,  when  he  came  upon  it 
on  the  Dark  continent,  concluded  that  the  negroes  came 
to  that  horrible  desire  from  their  liking  for  the  meat  of 
gorillas,  which  so  nearly  approach  man  in  appearance. 
Herodatus,  writing  twenty-five  hundred  years  ago, 
mentions  the  Massagetae  who  coiled  the  flesh  of  their 
old  folks  with  that  of  cattle,  both  killed  for  the  occasion. 
Cannibalism  marked  the  life  of  all  peoples  in  days  of 
savagery. 

Plutarch  says  that  Cataline's  associates  gave  proof  of 
their  loyalty  to  that  agitator  and  to  one  another  by  sac- 
rificing and  eating  a  man.  Achilles  expressed  his  wish 
that  he  might  devour  Hector.  The  Kafirs  ate  their 
own  children  in  the  famine  of  1857,  and  the  Germans 
ate  one  another  when  starvation  maddened  them,  long 
after  Maryland  and  Massachusetts  had  become  thriv- 
ing settlements  in  the  New  World.  There  is  a  historic 
instance  of  a  party  of  American  pioneers  lost  in  the 
mountains  of  California  in  the  nineteenth  century,  who 
in  their  last  extremity  of  hunger  ate  several  of  the  party. 

To  devour  dead  relatives,  to  kill  and  eat  the  elders,  to 
feast  upon  slaves  and  captives,  even  for  mothers  to  eat 
their  children,  were  religious  and  tribal  rites  for  many 
tens  of  thousands  of  years.  We  have  records  of  these 
customs  spread  over  the  widest  areas  of  the  world. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  237 

Undoubtedly  cannibalism  began  as  a  question  of  food 
supply.  In  early  times  when  man,  emerging  from  the 
purely  animal  stage,  was  without  agricultural  skill,  and 
lived  in  caves  or  trees,  his  fellow  was  his  easiest  prey. 
The  great  beasts  were  too  fierce  and  powerful  for  his 
feeble  weapons  except  when  luck  favored  him,  and  the 
clan  or  family,  or  even  the  single  brave  hunter,  sought 
the  man-meat  by  stealth  or  combat,  or  in  times  of  stress 
ate  those  nearest  and  dearest. 

Specially  among  peoples  whose  principal  diet  is 
heavy,  starchy  food,  such  as  the  breadfruit,  the  demand 
for  meat  is  keen.  I  saw  Marquesan  women  eating  in- 
sects, worms,  and  other  repellant  bits  of  flesh  out  of 
sheer  instinct  and  stomachic  need.  When  salt  is  not  to 
be  had,  the  desire  for  meat  is  most  intense.  In  these 
valleys  the  upper  tribes,  whose  enemies  shut  them  off 
from  the  sea  with  its  salt  and  fish,  were  the  most  per- 
sistent cannibals,  and  the  same  condition  exists  in  Africa 
to-day,  where  the  interior  tribes  eat  any  corpse,  while 
none  of  the  coast  tribes  are  guilty. 

As  the  passion  for  cannibalistic  feasts  grew, — and  it 
became  a  passion  akin  to  the  opium  habit  in  some, — the 
supply  of  other  meat  had  little  to  do  with  its  continu- 
ance. In  New  Britain  human  bodies  were  sold  in  the 
shops ;  in  the  Solomon  Islands  victims  were  fattened  like 
cattle,  and  on  the  upper  Congo  an  organized  traffic  is 
carried  on  in  these  empty  tenements  of  the  human  soul. 

Although  cannibalism  originated  in  a  bodily  need, 
man  soon  gave  it  an  emotional  and  spiritual  meaning, 
as  he  has  given  them  to  all  customs  that  have  their  root 
in  his  physical  being.  Two  forms  of  cannibalism  seem 
to  have  existed  among  the  first  historic  peoples.  One 


238  WHITE  SHADOWS 

was  concerned  with  the  eating  of  relatives  and  intimates, 
for  friendship's  sake  or  to  gain  some  good  quality  they 
possessed.  Thus  when  babies  died,  the  Chavante 
mothers,  on  the  Uruguay,  ate  them  to  regain  their  souls. 
Russians  ate  their  fathers,  and  the  Irish,  if  Strabo  is 
to  be  credited,  thought  it  good  to  eat  both  deceased  par- 
ents. The  Lhopa  of  Sikkim,  in  Tibet,  eat  the  bride's 
mother  at  the  wedding  feast. 

But  Maori  cannibalism,  with  its  best  exposition  in  the 
Marquesas,  was  due  to  a  desire  for  revenge,  cooking  and 
eating  being  the  greatest  of  insults.  It  was  an  expres- 
sion of  jingoism,  a  hatred  for  all  outside  the  tribe  or 
valley,  and  it  made  the  feud  between  valleys  almost  in- 
cessant. 

It  was  in  no  way  immoral,  for  morals  are  the  best  tra- 
ditions and  ways  of  each  race,  and  here  the  eating  of 
enemies  was  authorized  by  every  teaching  of  priest  and 
leader,  by  time-honored  custom  and  the  strongest  dic- 
tates of  nature. 

White  men  and  Chinese,  in  fact,  all  foreigners,  were 
seldom  eaten  here.  There  were  exceptions  when  ven- 
geance impelled,  such  at  that  of  Honi  or  Jones,  whom 
Haabunai's  grandfather  ate,  but  as  a  rule  they  were 
spared  and  indeed  cherished,  as  strange  visitors  who 
might  teach  the  people  useful  things.  Only  their  own 
depravity  brought  them  to  the  oven. 

At  such  times,  the  feast  was  even  a  disagreeable  rite. 
It  is  a  fact  that  the  Marquesan  disliked  the  flesh  of  a 
white  man.  They  said  he  was  too  salty.  Hundreds  of 
years  ago  the  Aztecs,  according  to  Bernal  Diaz,  who 
was  there,  complained  that  "the  flesh  of  the  Spaniards 
failed  to  afford  even  nourishment,  since  it  was  intoler- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  239 

ably  bitter."  This,  though  the  Indians  were  dying  of 
starvation  by  hundreds  of  thousands  in  the  merciless 
siege  of  Mexico  City. 

Standards  of  barbarity  vary.  Horrible  and  revolt- 
ing as  the  very  mention  of  cannibalism  is  to  us,  it  should 
be  remembered  that  it  rested  upon  an  attitude  toward 
the  foreigner  and  the  slave  that  in  some  degree  still  per- 
sists everywhere  in  the  world.  Outside  the  tribe,  the 
savage  recognized  no  kindred  humanity.  Members  of 
every  clan  save  his  own  were  regarded  as  strange  and 
contemptible  beings,  outlandish  and  barbarous  in  man- 
ners and  customs,  not  to  be  regarded  as  sharers  of  a 
common  birthright.  This  attitude  toward  the  stranger 
did  not  at  all  prevent  the  cannibal  from  being,  within 
his  own  tribe,  a  gentle,  merry,  and  kindly  individual. 

Even  toward  the  stranger  the  Marquesan  was  never 
guilty  of  torture  of  any  kind.  Though  they  slew  and 
ate,  they  had  none  of  the  refinements  of  cruelty  of  the 
Romans,  not  even  scalping  enemies  as  did  the  Scythians, 
Visigoths,  Franks,  and  Anglo-Saxons.  In  their  most 
bloody  wars  they  often  paused  in  battle  to  give  the 
enemy  time  to  eat  and  to  rest,  and  there  is  no  record 
of  their  ever  ringing  a  valley  about  with  armed  war- 
riors and  starving  to  death  the  women  and  children 
within.  Victims  for  the  gods  were  struck  down  with- 
out warning,  so  that  they  might  not  suffer  even  the 
pangs  of  anticipation.  The  thumb-screw  and  rack  of 
Christendom  struck  with  horror  those  of  my  cannibal 
friends  to  whom  I  mentioned  them. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  memorable  game  for  the  matches  in  the  cocoanut-grove  of  Lam  Kai  Oo. 

PARABLES  are  commonly  found  in  books.  In 
a  few  words  on  a  printed  page  one  sees  a  uni- 
versal problem  made  small  and  clear,  freed  from 
those  large  uncertainties  and  whimsies  of  chance  that 
make  life  in  the  whole  so  confusing  to  the  vision.  It 
was  my  fortune  to  see,  in  the  valley  of  Atuona  on  Hiva- 
oa,  a  series  of  incidents  which  were  at  the  time  a  whirl 
of  unbelievable  merriment,  yet  which  slowly  clarified 
themselves  into  a  parable,  while  I  sat  later  considering 
them  on  the  leaf-shaded  paepae  of  the  House  of  the 
Golden  Bed. 

They  began  one  afternoon  when  I  dropped  down  to 
the  palace  to  have  a  smoke  with  M.  L'Hermier  des 
Plantes,  the  governor.  As  I  mounted  the  steps  I  be- 
held on  the  veranda  the  governor,  stern,  though  perspir- 
ing, in  his  white  ducks,  confronting  a  yellowish  stranger 
on  crutches  who  pleaded  in  every  tone  of  anguish  for 
some  boon  denied  him. 

ffNon!  No!  Nail"  said  the  governor,  poly-linguisti- 
cally  emphatic.  "It  cannot  be  done!"  He  dropped 
into  a  chair  and  poured  himself  an  inch  of  Pernod,  as  the 
defeated  suitor  turned  to  me  in  despair. 

He  was  short  and  of  a  jaundiced  hue,  his  soft  brown 
eyes  set  slightly  aslant.  Although  lame,  he  had  an 
alertness  and  poise  unusual  in  the  sea's  spawn  of  these 
beaches.  In  Tahitian,  Marquesan,  and  French,  with 

240 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  .     241 

now  and  then  an  English  word,  he  explained  that  he, 
a  Tahitian  marooned  on  Hiva-oa  from  a  schooner  be- 
cause of  a  broken  leg,  wished  to  pass  the  tedium  of  his 
exile  in  an  innocent  game  of  cards. 

"I  desire  a  mere  permission  to  buy  two  packs  of  cards 
at  the  Chinaman's,"  he  begged.  "I  would  teach  my 
neighbors  here  the  jeu  de  pokaree.  I  have  learned  it  on 
a  voyage  to  San  Francisco.'  It  is  Americaine.  It  is 
like  life,  not  altogether  luck.  One  must  think  well  to 
play  it.  I  doubt  not  that  you  know  that  game." 

Now  gambling  is  forbidden  in  these  isles.  It  is  told 
that  throughout  the  southern  oceans  such  a  madness 
possessed  the  people  to  play  the  white  men's  games  of 
chance  that  in  order  to  prevent  constant  bloodshed  in 
quarrels  a  strict  interdiction  was  made  by  the  conquer- 
ors. Of  course  whites  here  are  always  excepted  from 
such  sin-stopping  rules,  and  merchants  keep  a  small 
stock  of  cards  for  their  indulgence. 

"But  why  two  packs?"  I  asked  the  agitated  Tahitian. 

"Mais,  Monsieur,  that  is  the  way  I  was  taught.  We 
played  with  ten  or  fourteen  in  the  circle,  and  as  it  is 
merely  pour  passer  le  temps,  more  of  my  poor  brother 
Kanakas  can  enjoy  it  with  two  packs." 

He  was  positively  abased,  for  no  Tahitian  says  "Kan- 
aka" of  himself.  It  is  a  term  of  contempt.  He  might 
call  his  fellow  so,  but  only  as  an  American  negro  says 
"nigger." 

I  looked  at  him  closely.  Some  gesture,  the  suggested 
slant  of  his  brows,  the  thin  lips,  reminded  me  of  a  cer- 
tain "son  of  Ah  Cum"  who  guided  me  into  disaster  in 
Canton,  saying,  "Mis'r  Rud  Kippeling  he  go  one  time 
befo'." 


242  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"Your  name?"  I  asked  in  hope  of  confirmation. 

"O  Lalala,"  he  replied,  while  the  smile  that  started  in 
his  eyes  was  killed  by  his  tightening  lips.  "I  am 
French,  for  my  grandfather  was  of  Annam  under  the 
tri-color,  and  my  mother  of  Tahiti-iti." 

Now  fourteen-handed  poker,  with  O  Lalala  as  in- 
structor to  those  ignorant  of  the  game,  the  code  of  which 
was  written  by  a  United  States  diplomat,  appealed  to 
me  as  more  than  a  passing  of  the  time.  It  would  be  an 
episode  in  the  valley.  My  patriotism  was  stimulated. 
I  called  the  governor  aside. 

"This  poker,"  I  said,  "is  not  like  ecarte  or  baccarat. 
It  is  a  study  of  character,  a  matching  of  minds,  a  thing 
we  call  bluff,  we  Americans.  These  poor  Marquesans 
must  have  some  fun.  Let  him  do  it!  No  harm  can 
come  of  it.  It  is  far  to  Paris,  where  the  laws  are  made." 

The  governor  turned  to  O  Lalala. 

"No  stakes!"  he  said. 

"Mcds,  non!  Not  a  sou!"  the  lame  man  promised. 
"We  will  use  only  matches  for  counters.  Merci,  merci, 
Monsieur  I' Administrateur\  You  are  very  good< 
Please,  will  you  give  me  now  the  note  to  Ah  You?" 

As  he  limped  away  with  it,  the  governor  poured  me 
an  inch  of  absinthe. 

"Sapristi!"  he  exclaimed.  "O  Lalala !  O,  la,  la,  la !" 
He  burst  into  laughter.  "He  will  play  ze  bloff  ?" 

I  spent  that  evening  with  Kriech,  the  German  trader 
of  Taka-Uka.  Over  our  Hellaby  beef  and  Munich 
beer  we  talked  of  copra  and  the  beautiful  girls  of  Buda- 
Pesth,  of  the  contemplated  effort  of  the  French  govern- 
ment to  monopolize  the  island  trade  by  subsidizing  a 
corporation,  and  of  the  incident  of  the  afternoon. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  243 

"The  Herr  Doktor  is  new,"  said  Kriech,  with  a  wag 
of  his  head.  "That  O  Lalala!  I  have  heard  that  that 
poker  iss  very  dansherous.  That  Prince  Hanoi  of 
Papeite  lose  his  tarn  headt  to  a  Chinaman.  Something 
comes  of  this  foolishnesses!" 

At  midnight  I  had  again  gained  the  House  of  the 
Golden  Bed  and  had  lain  down  to  sleep  when  on  the 
breeze  from  up  the  valley  there  came  a  strangely  famil- 
iar sound  to  my  upper  ear.  I  sat  up,  listening.  In  the 
dark  silence,  with  no  wind  to  rustle  the  breadfruit  and 
cocoanut-trees,  and  only  the  brook  faintly  murmuring 
below,  I  heard  a  low  babble  of  voices.  No  word  was 
distinguishable,  not  even  the  language,  yet  curiously 
the  sound  had  a  rhythm  that  I  knew. 

I  have  heard  from  a  distance  preaching  in  many  lan- 
guages. Though  only  the  cadences,  the  pauses,  and 
rhythm  reached  me,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  knowing  their 
origin  and  meaning.  Thought  casts  the  mold  of  all 
speech.  Now  my  drowsy  mind  harked  back  to  Ameri- 
can days,  to  scenes  in  homes  and  clubs. 

I  rose,  and  wrapping  the  loin-cloth  about  me,  set  out 
with  a  lantern  in  search  of  that  sound.  It  led  me  down 
the  trail,  across  the  brook,  and  up  the  slope  into  the 
dense  green  growth  of  the  mountain-side.  Beyond  I 
saw  lights  in  the  cocoanut-grove  of  Lam  Kai  Oo. 

My  bare  feet  made  no  noise,  and  through  the  under- 
growth I  peered  upon  as  odd  a  sight  as  ever  pleased  a 
lover  of  the  bizarre.  A  blaze  of  torches  lighted  a  cleared 
space  among  the  tall  palm  columns,  and  in  the  flickering 
red  glow  a  score  of  naked,  tattooed  figures  crouched 
about  a  shining  mat  of  sugar-cane.  About  them  great 
piles  of  yellow-boxed  Swedish  matches  caught  the  light, 


244  WHITE  SHADOWS 

and  on  the  cane  mat  shone  the  red  and  white  and  black 
of  the  cards. 

0  Lalala  sat  facing  me,  absorbed  in  the  game.     At 
his  back  the  yellow  boxes  were  piled  high,  his  crutch 
propped  against  them,  and  continually  he  speeded  the 
play  by  calling  out,  "Passy,  calley  or  makum  bigger!" 
"Comely  center!"  or,  "Ante  uppy!" 

These  were  the  sounds  that  had  swept  my  memory 
back  to  civilization  and  drawn  me  from  my  Golden  Bed. 
O  Lalala  had  all  the  slang  of  poker — the  poker  of  the 
waterfronts  of  San  Francisco  and  of  Shanghai — and 
evidently  he  had  already  taught  his  eager  pupils  that 
patois. 

They  crouched  about  the  mat,  bent  forward  in  their 
eagerness,  and  the  flickering  light  caught  twisting 
mouths  and  eyes  ringed  with  tattooing.  Over  their 
heads  the  torches  flared,  held  by  breathless  onlookers. 
The  candlenuts,  threaded  on  long  spines  of  cocoanut- 
leaves,  blazed  only  a  few  seconds,  but  each  dying  one 
lit  the  one  beneath  as  it  sputtered  out,  and  the  scores  of 
strings  shed  a  continuous  though  wavering  light  upon 
the  shining  mat  and  the  cards. 

The  midnight  darkness  of  the  enclosing  grove  and 
the  vague  columns  of  the  palms,  upholding  the  rustling 
canopy  that  hid  the  sky,  hinted  at  some  monstrous  cathe- 
dral where  heathen  rites  were  celebrated. 

1  pushed  through  the  fringe  of  onlookers,  none  of 
whom  heeded  me,  and  found  Apporo  and  Exploding 

Eggs  holding  torches.  The  madness  of  play  was  upon 
them.  The  sad  placidity  of  every  day  was  gone;  as  in 
the  throes  of  the  dance  they  kept  their  gleaming  eyes 
upon  the  fluctuations  of  fortune  before  them.  Twice  I 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  245 

spoke  sharply  before  they  heard  me,  and  then  in  a 
frenzy  of  supplication  Apporo  threw  herself  upon  me. 

Would  I  not  give  her  matches — the  packets  of 
matches  that  were  under  the  Golden  Bed?  She  and  her 
husband,  Great  Fern,  had  spent  but  an  hour  in  the 
magic  circle  ere  they  were  denuded  of  their  every  match. 
Couriers  were  even  now  scouring  the  valley  for  more 
matches.  Quick,  hasten!  Even  now  it  might  be  that 
the  packets  under  the  Golden  Bed  were  gone! 

"Surely,  then,  come,"  I  said,  struck  by  an  incredible 
possibility.  Could  it  be  that  the  crafty  O  Lalala — ab- 
surd! But  Apporo,  hurrying  before  me  down  the  lan- 
tern-lighted trail,  confirmed  my  suspicions. 

O  Lalala  had  stated  and  put  into  effect  the  prohibi- 
tion of  any  other  stakes  other  than  the  innocent  matches 
— mere  counters — which  he  had  mentioned  to  the  gov- 
ernor. But  swift  messengers  had  heralded  throughout 
the  valley  that  there  would  be  gambling — authorized  par 
gouvernement — in  Lam  Kai  Go's  plantation,  and  al- 
ready the  cards  had  been  shuffled  for  seven  or  eight 
hours.  Throughout  all  Atuona  matches  had  been  given 
an  extraordinary  and  superlative  value.  To  the  far- 
thest huts  on  the  rim  of  the  valley  the  cry  was 
"Matches!"  And  as  fast  as  they  arrived,  O  Lalala  won 
them. 

We  hastened  into  my  cabin,  and  Apporo  was  beneath 
the  Golden  Bed  ere  the  rays  of  my  lantern  fell  upon  the 
floor.  The  packets  had  disappeared. 

"Exploding  Eggs!"  cried  Apporo,  her  dark  eyes 
rolling  in  rage. 

"But — he  is  honest,"  I  objected. 

In  such  a  crisis,  she  muttered,  all  standards  were 


246  WHITE  SHADOWS 

naught.  Exploding  Eggs  had  been  one  of  the  first 
squatters  at  the  sugar-cane  mat.  "The  Bishop  himself 
would  trade  the  holy-water  fonts  for  matches,  were  he  as 
thirsty  to  play  as  I  am!" 

There  were  no  more  matches  in  the  valleys  of  Atuona 
or  Taka-Uka,  she  said.  Every  dealer  had  sold  out. 
Every  house  had  been  invaded.  The  losers  had  begged, 
borrowed,  or  given  articles  of  great  value  for  matches. 
The  accursed  Tahitian  had  them  all  but  a  few  now  being 
waged.  Defeated  players  were  even  now  racing  over 
the  mountains  in  the  darkness,  ransacking  each  hut  for 
more. 

The  reputation  of  Hiva-oa,  of  the  island  itself,  was 
at  stake.  A  foreigner  had  dishonored  their  people,  or 
would  if  they  did  not  win  back  what  he  had  gained  from 
them.  She  was  half  Chinese;  her  father's  soul  was 
concerned.  He  had  died  in  this  very  room.  To  save 
his  face  in  death  she  would  give  back  even  her  interest 
in  the  Golden  Bed,  she  would  pledge  all  that  Great 
Fern  possessed,  if  I  would  give  her  only  a  few  matches. 

Her  pleas  could  only  be  hopeless.  There  was  not  a 
match  in  the  cabin. 

Together  we  returned  to  the  cocoanut-grove.  O  La- 
lala  still  sat  calmly  winning  the  matches,  the  supply  of 
which  was  from  time  to  time  replenished  by  panting 
new-comers.  He  swept  the  mat  clean  at  every  valuable 
pot. 

His  only  apparent  advantage  was  that  he  made  the 
rules  whenever  questions  arose.  He  was  patient  in  all 
disputes,  yielding  in  small  matters,  but  he  was  as  the 
granite  rocks  of  the  mountain  above  him  when  many 
matches  were  at  stake.  With  solemnity  he  invoked  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  247 

name  of  Hoy-lee,  the  mysterious  person  who  had  fixed 
immutably  the  tapus  of  pokaree.  He  made  an  occult 
sign  with  his  thumb  against  his  nose,  and  that  settled  it. 
If  any  one  persisted  in  challenging  this  tiki  he  added  his 
other  thumb  to  the  little  finger  of  his  first  symbol,  and 
said,  "Got-am-to-hellee!"  As  a  last  recourse,  he  would 
raise  his  crutch  and  with  public  opinion  supporting  him 
would  threaten  to  invoke  the  law  against  gambling  and 
stop  the  game  if  disputation  did  not  cease. 

Steadily  the  pile  of  Swedish  tcendstikkers  grew  behind 
him.  All  through  the  night  the  game  raged  beneath 
the  light  of  the  candlenuts,  in  a  silence  broken  only  by 
the  hoarse  breathing  of  the  crouching  brown  men,  the 
sandy-sounding  rustle  of  the  palm-fronds  overhead,  and 
cries  of  "Ante  uppy!"  or  "Comely  center!"  When 
dawn  came  grayly  through  the  aisles  of  the  grove,  they 
halted  briefly  to  eat  a  bowl  of  popoi  and  to  drink  the 
milk  of  freshly  gathered  nuts.  O  Lalala,  relaxing 
against  the  heap  of  his  winnings,  lifted  a  shell  to  his  lips 
and  over  its  rim  gave  me  one  enigmatic  look. 

Whistling  softly,  I  went  down  to  the  House  of  the 
Golden  Bed,  breakfasted  there  without  the  aid  of  Ex- 
ploding Eggs,  and  then  sought  the  governor.  He  had 
gone  by  the  whale-boat  of  Special  Agent  Bauda  to  an 
adjoining  deserted  island  to  shoot  kuku.  Hiva-oa  was 
without  a  government. 

All  day  the  madness  raged  in  the  cocoanut-grove. 
In  the  afternoon  the  vicar  apostolic  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  supported  by  the  faithful  Deacon 
Fariuu,  himself  toiled  up  the  slope  to  stop  the  game. 
The  bishop  was  received  in  sullen  silence  by  regular 
communicants.  A  catechist  whom  he  had  found  squat 


248  WHITE  SHADOWS 

before  the  mat  paid  no  attention  to  his  objurgations, 
save  to  ask  the  bishop  not  to  stand  behind  him,  as  O 
Lalala  had  said  that  was  bad  luck.  The  churchmen  re- 
tired in  a  haughty  silence  that  was  unheeded  by  the  ab- 
sorbed players. 

Later  the  deacon  returned,  bringing  with  him  the  very 
matches  that  had  been  kept  in  the  church  to  light  the 
lamps  at  night  service.  These  he  stacked  on  the  sugar- 
cane mat.  The  vicar  bishop  followed  him  to  call  down 
the  anathema  maranatha  of  high  heaven  upon  this  rene- 
gade who  had  robbed  the  cathedral  and  the  priests'  house 
of  every  tcendstikker  they  had  held,  and  when  he  had 
again  retired,  the  deacon,  dropping  his  last  box  on  the 
woven  table,  elevated  his  hands  toward  the  skies  and 
fervently  asked  the  Giver  of  All  Good  Things  to  aid  his 
draw.  But  he  received  a  third  ace,  only  to  see  O  Lalala 
put  down  four  of  the  damnable  bits  of  paper  with  three 
spots  on  each  one. 

At  three  o'clock  next  morning  the  game  lapsed  be- 
cause the  Tahitian  had  all  the  counters.  These  he  sent 
to  his  house,  where  they  were  guarded  by  a  friend.  For 
a  day  he  sat  waiting  by  the  sugar-cane  mat,  and  the 
Monte  Carlo  was  not  deserted.  O  Lalala  would  not 
budge  to  the  demands  of  a  hundred  losers  that  he  sell 
back  packages  of  matches  for  cocoanuts  or  French 
francs  or  any  other  currency.  Pigs,  fish,  canned  goods, 
and  all  the  contents  of  the  stores  he  spurned  as  breaking 
faith  with  the  kindly  governor,  who  would  recognize 
that  while  matches  were  not  gambling  stakes,  all  other 
commodities  were. 

On  the  fourth  day  the  canoes  that  had  paddled  and 
sailed  to  every  other  island  of  the  archipelago  began  to 


A  chieftess  in  tapa  garments  with  tapa  parasol 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  249 

return.  Some  brought  fifty  packets,  some  less.  Deal- 
ers had  tossed  their  prices  sky-ward  when  asked  to  sell 
their  entire  stocks. 

Now  the  game  began  again  with  the  fierceness  of  the 
typhoon  after  the  center  has  passed.  Men  and  women 
stood  in  line  for  the  chance  to  redeem  their  fortunes,  to 
slake  their  rage,  to  gain  applause.  Once  they  thought 
they  had  conquered  the  Tahitian.  He  began  to  lose, 
and  before  his  streak  of  trouble  ended,  he  had  sent  more 
than  thirty  packages  from  his  hut  to  the  grove.  But 
this  was  the  merest  breath  of  misfortune;  his  star  rose 
again,  and  the  contents  of  the  canoes  were  his. 

On  the  fifth  day  it  became  known  that  the  Shan- Shan 
syndicate  of  Cantonese  had  a  remaining  case  of  tcend- 
stikkers.  They  claimed  that  until  now  they  had  over- 
looked this  case.  It  held  a  hundred  packages,  or  twelve 
hundred  boxes.  It  was  priceless  as  the  sole  possible  bar- 
rier against  the  absolute  ending  of  the  game. 

The  Shan- Shan  people  were  without  heart.  They 
demanded  for  the  case  five  francs  a  packet.  Many  of 
the  younger  Marquesans  counselled  giving  the  Can- 
tonese a  taste  of  the  ancient  uu,  the  war-club  of  a  pre- 
vious generation.  Desperate  as  was  the  plight  of  the 
older  gamesters,  they  dared  not  consent.  The  governor 
would  return,  the  law  would  take  its  course,  and  they 
would  go  to  Noumea  to  work  out  their  lives  for  crime. 
No,  they  would  buy  the  case  for  francs,  but  they  would 
not  risk  dividing  it  among  many,  who  would  be  de- 
voured piecemeal  by  the  diabolical  O  Lalala. 

"Kivi,  the  Vagabond,  the  Drinker  of  kava,  is  the  chief 
to  lead  our  cause,"  said  Great  Fern.  "He  has  never 
gone  to  the  Christian  church.  He  believes  still  in  the 


250  WHITE  SHADOWS 

old  gods  of  the  High  Place,  and  he  is  tattooed  with  the 
shark." 

Kivi  was  the  one  man  who  had  not  played.  He  cared 
nothing  for  the  pleasures  of  the  Farani,  the  foolish 
whites.  After  palaver,  his  neighbors  waited  on  him  in  a 
body.  They  reasoned  with  him,  they  begged  him.  He 
consented  to  their  plan  only  after  they  had  wept  at 
their  humbling.  Then  they  began  to  instruct  him. 

They  told  him  of  the  different  kinds  of  combinations, 
of  straights  and  of  flushes,  and  of  a  certain  occasional 
period  when  the  Tahitian  would  introduce  a  mad  novelty 
by  which  the  cards  with  one  fruit  on  them  would 
"runnee  wil'ee."  They  warned  him  against  times  when 
without  reason  the  demon  would  put  many  matches  on 
the  mat,  and  after  frightening  out  every  one  would  in 
the  end  show  that  he  had  no  cards  of  merit. 

Immediately  after  sunset,  when  the  popoi  and  fish 
had  been  eaten,  and  all  had  bathed  in  the  brook,  when 
the  women  had  perfumed  their  bodies  and  put  the  scar- 
let hibiscus  in  their  hair,  and  after  Kivi  had  drunk  thrice 
of  kava,  the  game  began.  The  valley  was  deserted,  the 
paepaes  empty.  No  fires  twinkled  from  the  mountain- 
sides. Only  in  the  cocoanut-grove  the  candlenuts  were 
lit  as  the  stars  peeped  through  the  roof  of  the  world. 

A  throng  surrounded  the  pair  of  combatants.  The 
worn  cards  had  been  oiled  and  dried,  and  though  the 
ominous  faces  of  the  tiki  upon  them  shone  bravely, 
doubtless  they  were  weary  of  strife.  The  pipe  was 
made  to  smoke;  Kivi  puffed  it  and  so  did  all  who  had 
joined  in  the  purchase  of  the  case  from  the  thieves  of 
Cantonese.  Then  the  cards  were  dealt  by  Kivi,  who 
had  won  the  cut. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  251 

O  Lalala  and  he  eyed  each  other  like  Japanese 
wrestlers  before  the  grapple.  Their  eyes  were  slits  as 
they  put  up  the  ante  of  five  packets  each.  O  Lalala 
opened  the  pot  for  five  packets  and  Kivi,  nudged  by  his 
backers,  feverishly  balanced  them.  He  took  three 
cards,  O  Lalala  but  one.  Standing  behind  the  Tahitian, 
I  saw  that  he  had  no  cards  of  value,  but  coolly  he  threw 
thirty  packets  upon  the  mat.  The  others  shuddered, 
for  Kivi  had  drawn  deuces  to  a  pair  of  kings.  They 
made  the  pipe  glow  again.  They  puffed  it;  they  spat; 
they  put  their  heads  together,  and  he  threw  down  his 
cards. 

Then  calmly  the  Tahitian  laid  down  his  own,  and  they 
saw  that  they  could  have  beaten  him.  They  shouted  in 
dismay,  and  withdrew  Kivi,  who  after  some  palaver 
went  away  with  them  into  the  darkness. 

One  or  two  candlenut  torches  dimly  illumined  the 
figures  of  the  squatting  women  who  remained.  Upon 
the  sugar-cane  mat  O  Lalala  stretched  himself  at  ease, 
closing  his  eyes.  A  silence  broken  only  by  the  stealthy 
noises  of  the  forest  closed  upon  us.  Teata,  her  dark 
eyes  wide,  looked  fearfully  over  her  shoulder  and  crept 
close  to  me.  In  a  low  voice  she  said  that  the  absent 
players  had  thrown  earth  over  their  shoulders,  stamped, 
and  called  upon  Po,  the  Marquesan  deity  of  darkness, 
yet  it  had  not  availed  them.  Now  they  went  to  make 
magic  to  those  at  whose  very  mention  she  shuddered,  not 
naming  them. 

We  waited,  while  the  torches  sputtered  lower,  and  a 
dank  breath  of  the  forest  crept  between  the  trees.  O 
Lalala  appeared  to  sleep,  though  when  Apporo  at- 
tempted to  withdraw  a  card  he  pinned  it  with  his  crutch. 


252  WHITE  SHADOWS 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  the  players  returned.  Kivi 
crouched  to  his  place  without  a  word,  and  the  others 
arranged  themselves  behind  him  in  fixed  array,  as 
though  they  had  a  cabalistic  number-formation  in 
mind. 

Fresh  torches  were  made,  and  many  disputed  the 
privilege  of  holding  them,  as  they  controlled  one's  view 
of  the  mat.  O  Lalala  sat  imperturbable,  waiting.  At 
last  all  was  ready.  The  light  fell  upon  the  giant  limbs 
and  huge  torsos  of  the  men,  picking  out  arabesques  of 
tattooing  and  catching  ruddy  gleams  from  red  pareus. 
The  women,  in  crimson  gowns  caught  up  to  the  waist, 
their  luxuriant  hair  adorned  with  flowers  and  phos- 
phorescent fungus,  their  necks  hung  with  the  pink 
peppers  of  Chile,  squatted  in  a  close  ring  about  the 
players. 

The  lame  man  took  up  the  pack,  shuffled  it,  and 
handed  it  to  Kivi  to  cut.  Then  Kivi  solemnly  stacked 
before  him  the  eighty-five  packets  of  matches,  all  that 
remained  in  the  islands.  Five  packs  went  upon  the  mat 
for  ante,  and  Kivi  very  slowly  picked  up  his  cards. 

He  surveyed  them,  and  a  grim  smile  of  incredulity 
and  delight  spread  over  his  ink-decorated  countenance. 
He  opened  for  ten  packets.  O  Lalala  quickly  put  down 
as  many,  and  thirty  more. 

Kivi  chuckled  as  one  who  has  his  enemy  in  his  hand, 
but  stifles  his  feelings  to  hide  his  triumph.  He  then 
carefully  counted  his  remaining  wealth,  and  with  a 
gesture  of  invitation  slid  the  entire  seventy  packets 
about  his  knees.  They  were  a  great  bulk,  quite  840 
boxes  of  matches,  and  they  almost  obscured  the  curving 
palms  of  blue  tattooed  on  his  mighty  thighs. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  253 

Again  he  chuckled  and  this  time  put  his  knuckles  over 
his  mouth.  "Patty!"  said  Great  Fern  for  him,  and 
made  a  gesture  disdaining  more  cards. 

O  Lalala  scrutinized  his  face  as  the  sailor  the  heavens 
in  a  storm,  and  then  studied  the  visages  of  all  his  backers. 
He  closed  his  eyes  a  moment.  Then,  "My  cally!"  he 
said,  as  he  pushed  a  great  heap  of  tcendstikkers  onto  the 
cane  mat.  The  kav a-drinkers  grew  black  with  excite- 
ment. 

Kivi  hesitated,  and  then,  amid  the  most  frightful 
curses  of  his  company,  laid  down  only  a  pair  of  kings,  a 
six,  a  nine,  and  a  jack.  O  Lalala,  without  a  smile,  dis- 
closed a  pair  of  aces  and  three  meaningless  companions. 

The  game  was  over.  The  men  of  Hiva-oa  had 
thrown  their  last  spear.  Magic  had  been  unavailing; 
the  demon  foreigner  could  read  through  the  cards. 
Kivi  fell  back  helpless,  grief  and  kava  prostrating  him. 
The  torches  died  down  as  the  winner  picked  up  his  spoils 
and  prepared  to  retire. 

At  this  moment  a  man  dashed  madly  through  the 
grove,  displaying  two  boxes  and  a  handful  of  separate 
matches.  O  Lalala  at  first  refused  to  play  for  this 
trifling  stake,  but  in  a  storm  of  menacing  cries  consented 
to  cut  the  pack  for  double  or  nothing,  and  in  a  twinkling 
extinguished  the  last  hope. 

The  last  comer  had  looted  the  governor's  palace. 
The  ultimate  match  in  the  Marquesas  had  been  lost  to 
the  Tahitian.  He  now  had  the  absolute  monopoly  of 
light  and  of  cooking. 

Soberly  the  rest  of  the  valley  dwellers  went  home  to 
unlighted  huts. 

Next  morning,  after  a  cold  breakfast,  I  was  early 


254  WHITE  SHADOWS 

afoot  in  the  valley.  On  the  way  to  the  trader's  store  I 
beheld  the  complacent  winner  in  his  cabin.  Through 
the  open  door  I  saw  that  every  inch  of  the  walls  was  cov- 
ered with  stacked  boxes  of  matches,  yellow  fronts  ex- 
posed. On  his  mat  in  the  middle  of  this  golden  treasury 
O  Lalala  reclined,  smoking  at  his  leisure,  and  smiling 
the  happy  smile  of  Midas.  Outside  a  cold  wind  swept 
down  from  Calvary  Peak,  and  a  gray  sky  hid  the  sun. 

I  paused  in  the  reek  of  those  innumerable  matches, 
which  tainted  the  air  a  hundred  feet  away,  and  ex- 
changed morning  greetings  with  their  owner,  inquiring 
about  his  plans.  He  said  that  he  would  make  a  three 
days'  vigil  of  thanks,  and  upon  the  fourth  day  he  would 
sell  matches  at  a  franc  a  small  box.  I  bade  him  fare- 
well, and  passed  on. 

The  valley  people  were  coming  and  going  about  their 
affairs,  but  sadly  and  even  morosely.  There  was  no 
match  to  light  the  fire  for  roasting  breadfruit,  or  to 
kindle  the  solacing  tobacco.  O  Lalala  would  not  give 
one  away,  or  sell  one  at  any  price.  Neither  would  he 
let  a  light  be  taken  from  his  own  fire  or  pipe. 

The  next  schooner  was  not  expected  for  two  months, 
as  the  last  was  but  a  fortnight  gone.  Le  Brunnec  had 
not  a  match,  nor  Kriech.  The  governor  had  not  re- 
turned. The  only  alternatives  were  to  go  lightless  and 
smokeless  or  to  assault  the  heartless  oppressor.  Many 
dark  threats  were  muttered  on  the  cheerless  paepaes  and 
in  the  dark  huts,  but  in  variety  of  councils  there  was  no 
unity,  and  none  dared  assault  alone  the  yellow-walled 
hut  in  which  O  Lalala  smiled  among  his  gains. 

On  the  second  day  there  was  a  growing  tension  in  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  255 

atmosphere  of  the  valley.  I  observed  that  there  were 
no  young  men  to  be  seen  on  the  beach  or  at  the  traders' 
stores.  There  were  rumors,  hints  hardly  spoken,  of  a 
meeting  in  the  hills.  The  traders  looked  to  their  guns, 
whistling  thoughtfully.  There  was  not  a  spark  of  fire 
set  in  all  Atuona,  save  by  O  Lalala,  and  that  for  him- 
self alone. 

So  matters  stood  until  the  second  night.  Then  old 
Kahuiti,  that  handsomest  of  cannibals,  who  lived  in  the 
valley  of  Taaoa,  strolled  into  Atuona  and  made  it 
known  that  he  would  hold  a  meeting  in  the  High  Place 
where  of  old  many  of  his  tribe  had  been  eaten  by  Atuona 
men. 

Exploding  Eggs,  Malicious  Gossip,  and  I  climbed 
the  mountain  early.  The  population  of  the  valley, 
eager  for  counsel,  was  gathered  on  the  old  stone  benches 
where  half  a  century  earlier  their  sorcerers  had  sat.  In 
the  twilight  Kahuiti  stood  before  us,  his  long  white  beard 
tied  in  a  Psyche  knot  on  his  broad,  tattooed  chest.  His 
voice  was  stern. 

We  were  fools,  he  said,  to  be  denied  food  and  smoke 
by  the  foreigner.  What  of  matches  before  the  French 
came?  Had  he  known  matches  in  his  youth?  Aue! 
The  peoples  of  the  islands  must  return  to  the  ways  of 
their  fathers! 

He  leaped  from  the  top  of  the  Pekia,  and  seizing  his 
long  knife,  he  cut  a  five-foot  piece  of  parua-wood  and 
shaped  it  to  four  inches  in  width.  With  our  fascinated 
gaze  upon  him,  he  whittled  sharp  a  foot-long  piece  of 
the  same  wood,  and  straddled  the  longer  stick.  Hold- 
ing it  firmly  between  his  two  bare  knees  he  rubbed  the 


256  WHITE  SHADOWS 

shorter,  pointed  piece  swiftly  up  and  down  a  space  of 
six  inches  upon  his  mount.  Gradually  a  groove  formed, 
in  which  the  dust  collected  at  one  end. 

Soon  the  wood  was  smoking  hot,  and  then  the  old 
man's  hands  moved  so  rapidly  that  for  several  moments 
I  could  not  follow  them  with  the  eye.  The  smoke  be- 
came thicker,  and  suddenly  a  gleam  of  flame  arose, 
caught  the  dust,  and  was  fed  with  twigs  and  cocoanut- 
husks  by  scores  of  trembling  brown  hands.  In  a  few 
minutes  a  roaring  fire  was  blazing  on  the  sward. 

Pipes  sprang  from  loin-cloths  or  from  behind  ears, 
and  the  incense  of  tobacco  lifted  on  the  still  air  of  the 
evening.  Brands  were  improvised  and  hurried  home  to 
light  the  fires  for  breadfruit-roasting,  while  Kahuiti 
laughed  scornfully. 

"A  hundred  of  this  tribe  I  have  eaten,  and  no  won- 
der!" he  said  as  he  strode  away  toward  Taaoa. 

The  monopoly  of  O  Lalala  was  no  more.  Atuona 
Valley  had  turned  back  the  clock  of  time  a  hundred 
years,  to  destroy  the  perfect  world  in  which  he  sat  alone. 
He  heard  the  news  with  amazement  and  consternation. 
For  a  day  he  sat  disconsolate,  unable  to  credit  the  dis- 
aster that  had  befallen  his  carefully  made  plans.  Then 
he  offered  the  matches  at  usual  traders'  prices,  and  the 
people  mocked  him.  All  over  the  island  the  fire- 
ploughs,  oldest  of  fire-making  tools  in  the  world,  were 
being  driven  to  heat  the  stones  for  the  mei.  Atuona 
had  no  need  of  matches. 

The  governor  on  his  return  heard  the  roars  of  derision, 
gathered  the  story  from  a  score  of  mirthful  tongues, 
seized  and  sold  the  matches,  and  appropriated  the  funds 
for  a  barrel  of  Bordeaux.  And  for  many  weeks  the  un- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  257 

happy  O  Lalala  sat  mournfully  on  the  beach,  gazing  at 
the  empty  sea  and  longing  for  a  schooner  to  carry  him 
away. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Mademoiselle  N . 

THE  Jeanne  d'Arc,  a  beautiful,  long,  curving 
craft  manned  by  twelve  oarsmen,  came  like  a 
white  bird  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  Bay  of 
Traitors  one  Saturday  afternoon,  bringing  Pere  Vic- 
torien  to  Atuona.  He  was  from  Hatiheu,  on  the  island 
of  Nuka-hiva,  seventy  miles  to  the  north.  A  day  and  a 
night  he  had  spent  on  the  open  sea,  making  a  slow  voy- 
age by  wind  and  oar,  but  like  all  these  priests  he  made 
nothing  of  the  hardships.  They  come  to  the  islands  to 
stay  until  they  die,  and  death  means  a  crown  the  brighter 
for  martyrdom. 

He  looked  a  tortured  man  in  his  heavy  and  smother- 
ing vestments  when  I  met  him  before  the  mission  walls 
next  morning.  His  face  and  hands  were  covered  with 
pustules  as  if  from  smallpox. 

"The  TiOTio*  (sand-flies)  are  so  furious  the  last 
month,"  he  said  with  a  patient  smile.  "I  have  not  slept 
but  an  hour  at  a  time.  I  was  afraid  I  would  go  mad." 

News  of  his  coming  brought  all  the  valley  Catholics  to 
eight  o'clock  mass.  The  banana-shaded  road  and  the 
roots  of  the  old  banian  were  crowded  with  worshippers 
in  all  their  finery,  and  when  they  poured  into  the  mis- 
sion the  few  rude  benches  were  well  filled.  I  found  a 
chair  in  the  rear,  next  to  that  of  Baufre,  the  shaggy 
drunkard,  and  as  the  chanting  began,  I  observed  an 

258 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  259 

empty  prie-dieu,  specially  prepared  and  placed  for  some 
person  of  importance. 

"Mademoiselle  N "  said  Baufre,  noticing  the  di- 
rection of  my  glance.  "She  is  the  richest  woman  in  all 
the  Marquesas." 

At  the  Gospel  she  came  in,  walking  slowly  down  the 
aisle  and  taking  her  place  as  though  unaware  of  the 
hundred  covert  glances  that  followed  her.  Wealth  is 

comparative,  and  Mademoiselle  N ,  with  perhaps  a 

few  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  cash  and  cocoanut- 
grove,  stood  to  the  island  people  as  Rockefeller  to  us. 
Money  and  lands  were  not  all  her  possessions,  for 
though  she  had  never  traveled  from  her  birthplace,  she 
was  very  different  in  carriage  and  costume  from  the 
girls  about  her. 

She  wore  a  black  lace  gown,  clinging,  and  becoming 
her  slender  figure  and  delicately  charming  face.  Her 
features  were  exquisite,  her  eyes  lustrous  black  pools  of 
passion,  her  mouth  a  scarlet  line  of  pride  and  disdain. 
A  large  leghorn  hat  of  fine  black  straw,  with  chiffon, 
was  on  her  graceful  head,  and  her  tiny  feet  were  in  silk 
stockings  and  patent  leather.  She  held  a  gold  and 
ivory  prayer-book  in  gloved  hands,  and  a  jeweled  watch 
hung  upon  her  breast. 

She  might  have  passed  for  a  Creole  or  for  one  of  those 
beautiful  Filipino  mestizos,  daughters  of  Spanish 
fathers  and  Filipino  mothers.  I  suppose  coquetry  in 
woman  was  born  with  the  fig-leaf.  This  dainty,  fetch- 
ing heiress,  born  of  a  French  father  and  a  savage 
mother,  had  all  the  airs  and  graces  of  a  ballroom  belle. 
Where  had  she  gained  these  fashions  and  desires  of  the 
women  of  cities,  of  Europe? 


260  WHITE  SHADOWS 

I  had  but  to  look  over  the  church  to  feel  her  loneliness. 
Teata,  Many  Daughters,  Weaver  of  Mats,  and  Flower, 
savagely  handsome,  gaudily  dressed,  were  the  only  com- 
panions of  her  own  age.  Flower,  of  the  red-gold  hair, 
was  striking  in  a  scarlet  gown  of  sateen,  a  wreath  of 
pink  peppers,  and  a  necklace  of  brass.  She  had  been 
ornamented  by  the  oarsmen  of  the  Jeanne  d'Arc,  for- 
tunately without  Pere  Victorien's  knowledge.  Teata, 
in  her  tight  gown  with  its  insertions  of  fishnet  revealing 
her  smooth,  tawny  skin,  a  red  scarf  about  her  waist, 
straw  hat  trimmed  with  a  bright  blue  Chinese  shawl 
perched  on  her  high-piled  hair,  was  still  a  picture  of 
primitive  and  savage  grace.  They  were  handsome, 

these  girls,  but  they  were  wild  flowers.  Mile.  N 

had  the  poise  and  delicacy  of  the  hothouse  blossom. 

Her  father  had  spent  thirty  years  on  Hiva-oa,  labor- 
ing to  wring  a  fortune  from  the  toil  of  the  natives,  and 
dying,  he  had  left  it  all  to  this  daughter,  who,  with  her 
laces  and  jewels,  her  elegant,  slim  form  and  haughty 
manner,  was  in  this  wild  abode  of  barefooted,  half -naked 
people  like  a  pearl  in  a  gutter.  She  was  free  now  to  do 
what  she  liked  with  herself  and  her  fortune.  What 
would  she  do? 

It  was  the  question  on  every  tongue  and  in  every  eye 
when,  after  mass,  she  passed  down  the  lane  respectfully 
widened  for  her  in  the  throng  on  the  steps  and  with  a 
black-garbed  sister  at  her  side,  walked  to  the  nuns' 
house. 

"If  only  she  had  a  religious  vocation,"  sighed  Sister 
Serapoline.  "That  would  solve  all  difficulties,  and  save 
her  soul  and  happiness." 

Vainly  the  nuns  and  priests  had  tried  during  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  261 

dozen  years  of  her  tutelage  in  their  hands  to  direct  her 
aspirations  toward  this  goal,  but  one  had  only  to  look 
into  her  burning  eyes  or  see  the  supple  movement  of  her 
body,  to  know  that  she  sought  her  joy  on  earth. 

Liha-Liha,  the  natives  called  her  father,  which  means 
corporal,  and  that  they  had  hated  and  yet  feared  him 
when  Hiva-oa  was  still  given  over  to  cannibalism  out- 
lined his  character.  He  had  lived  and  died  in  his  house 
near  the  Stinking  Springs  on  the  road  to  Taaoa.  The 
sole  white  man  in  that  valley,  he  had  lorded  it  over  the 
natives  more  sternly  than  had  their  old  chiefs.  He  had 
fought  down  the  wilderness,  planted  great  cocoanut- 
plantations,  forced  the  unwilling  islanders  to  work  for 
him,  and  dollar  by  dollar,  with  an  iron  will,  he  had 
wrung  from  their  labor  the  fortune  now  left  in  the 
dainty  hands  of  his  half-savage  daughter. 

Song  of  the  Nightingale,  the  convict  cook  of  the  gov- 
ernor, gave  me  light  on  the  man. 

"I  loved  his  woman,  Piiheana  (Climber  of  Trees  Who 
Was  Killed  and  Eaten),  who  was  the  mother  of  Made- 
moiselle N ,"  said  Song  of  the  Nightingale.  "One 

night  he  found  me  with  her  on  his  paepae.  He  shot 
me ;  then  he  had  me  condemned  as  a  robber,  and  I  spent 
five  years  in  the  prison  at  Tai-o-hae." 

"And  Climber  of  Trees  Who  Was  Killed  and 
Eaten?" 

"He  beat  her  till  her  bones  were  broken,  and  sent  her 
from  him.  Then  he  took  Daughter  of  a  Piece  of  Tat- 
tooing, to  whom  he  left  in  his  will  thirty-five  thousand 
francs.  It  was  she  who  brought  up  Mademoiselle." 

Mademoiselle  herself  walked  daintily  down  to  the 
road,  where  her  horse  was  tied,  and  I  was  presented  to 


262  WHITE  SHADOWS 

her.  She  gave  me  her  hand  with  the  air  of  a  princess, 
her  scarlet  lips  quivering  into  a  faint  smile  and  her 
smouldering,  unsatisfied  eyes  sweeping  my  face.  With 
a  conciliating,  yet  imperious,  air,  she  suggested  that  I 
ride  over  the  hills  with  her. 

Picking  up  her  lace  skirt  and  frilled  petticoat,  she 
vaulted  into  the  man's  saddle  without  more  ado,  and 
took  the  heavy  reins  in  her  small  gloved  hands.  Her 
horse  was  scrubby,  but  she  rode  well,  as  do  all  Mar- 
quesans,  her  supple  body  following  his  least  movement 
and  her  slim,  silk-stockinged  legs  clinging  as  though 
she  were  riding  bareback.  When  the  swollen  river 
threatened  to  wet  her  varnished  slippers,  she  perched 
herself  on  the  saddle,  feet  and  all,  and  made  a  dry  ford. 

Over  the  hills  she  led  the  way  at  a  gallop,  despite 
wretched  trail  and  tripping  bushes.  Down  we  went 
through  the  jungle,  walled  in  by  a  hundred  kinds  of 
trees'  and  ferns  and  vines.  Now  and  then  we  came  into 
a  cleared  space,  a  native  plantation,  a  hut  surrounded 
by  breadfruit-,  mango-  and  cocoanut-,  orange-  and 
lime-trees.  No  one  called  "Kaoho!"  and  Mademoiselle 

N did  not  slacken  her  pace.  We  swept  into  the 

jungle  again  without  a  word,  my  horse  following  her 
mount's  flying  feet,  and  I  ducking  and  dodging  branches 
and  noose-like  vines. 

In  a  marshy  place,  where  patches  of  taro  spread  its 
magnificent  leaves  over  the  earth,  we  slowed  to  a  walk. 
The  jungle  tangle  was  all  about  us;  a  thousand  bright 
flowers,  scarlet,  yellow,  purple,  crimson,  splashed  with 
color  the  masses  of  green;  tall  ferns  uncurled  their 
fronds;  giant  creepers  coiled  like  snakes  through  the 
boughs,  and  the  sluggish  air  was  heavy  with  innumera- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  263 

ble  delicious  scents.  I  said  to  Mile.  N that  the 

beauty  of  the  islands  was  like  that  of  a  fantastic  dream, 
an  Arabian  Night's  tale. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  with  a  note  of  weariness  and  irony. 
The  feet  of  the  horses  made  a  sucking  sound  on  the  oozy 
ground.  "I  am  half  white,"  she  said  after  a  moment, 
and  as  the  horses'  hoofs  struck  the  rocky  trail  again, 
she  whipped  up  her  mount  and  we  galloped  up  the 
slope. 

After  a  time  the  trail  widened  into  a  road  and  I  saw 
before  us  a  queer  enclosure.  At  first  sight  I  thought 
it  a  wild-animal  park.  There  were  small  houses  like 
cages  and  a  big,  box-like  structure  in  the  center,  all 
enclosed  in  a  wire  fence,  a  couple  of  acres  in  all.  Draw- 
ing nearer,  I  saw  that  the  houses  were  cabins  painted 
in  gaudy  colors,  and  that  the  white  box  was  a  marble 
tomb  of  great  size.  Each  slab  of  marble  was  rimmed 
with  scarlet  cement,  and  the  top  of  the  tomb,  under  a 
corrugated  iron  roof,  was  covered  with  those  abominable 
bead-wreaths  from  Paris. 

Like  the  humbler  Marquesans  who  have  their  coffins 
made  and  graves  dug  before  their  passing,  Mademoiselle 

N 's  father  had  seen  to  it  that  this  last  resting-place 

was  prepared  while  he  lived,  and  he  had  placed  it  here 
in  the  center  of  his  plantation,  before  the  house  that 
had  been  his  home  for  thirty  years.  With  something 
of  his  own  crude  strength  and  barbaric  taste,  it  stood 
there,  the  grim  reminder  of  her  white  father  to  the  girl 
in  whose  veins  his  own  blood  mingled  with  that  of  the 
savage. 

She  looked  at  it  without  emotion,  and  after  I  had 
surveyed  it,  we  dismounted  and  she  led  me  into  her 


264  WHITE  SHADOWS 

house.  It  was  a  neat  and  showily-furnished  cottage, 
whose  Nottingham-lace  curtains,  varnished  golden-oak 
chairs  and  ingrain  carpet  spoke  of  attempts  at  mail- 
order beautification.  Sitting  on  a  horse-hair  sofa,  hard 
and  slippery,  I  drank  wine  and  ate  mangoes,  while  op- 
posite me  Mile.  N 's  mother  sat  in  stiff  misery  on 

a  chair.  She  was  a  withered  Marquesan  woman,  bare- 
footed and  ugly,  dressed  in  a  red  cotton  garment  of 
the  hideous  night-gown  pattern  introduced  by  the  mis- 
sionaries, and  her  eyes  were  tragedies  of  bewilderment 
and  suffering,  while  her  toothless  mouth  essayed  a  smile 
and  she  struggled  with  a  few  words  of  bad  French. 

Though  Mile.  N was  most  hospitable,  she  was 

not  at  ease,  and  I  knew  it  was  because  of  the  appear- 
ance of  her  mother,  this  woman  whom  her  father  had 
discarded  years  before,  but  to  whom  the  daughter  had 
shown  kindness  since  his  death.  The  mother  appeared 
more  at  ease  with  her  successor,  a  somewhat  younger 
Marquesan  woman,  who  waited  on  us  as  a  servant,  and 
seemed  contented  enough.  Doubtless  the  two  who  had 
endured  the  moods  of  Liha-Liha  had  many  confidences 
now  that  he  was  gone. 

I  had  to  describe  America  to  Mile.  N ,  and  the 

inventions  and  social  customs  of  which  she  had  read. 
She  would  not  want  to  live  in  such  a  big  country,  she 
said,  but  Tahiti  seemed  to  combine  comfort  with  the 
atmosphere  of  her  birthplace.  Perhaps  she  might  go 
to  Tahiti  to  live. 

As  I  took  my  hat  to  leave,  she  said : 

"I  have  been  told  that  they  are  separating  the  lepers 
in  Tahiti  and  confining  them  outside  Papeite  in  a  kind 
of  prison.  Is  that  so?" 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  265 

"Not  a  prison,"  I  replied.  "The  government  has 
built  cottages  for  them  in  a  little  valley.  Don't  you 
think  it  wise  to  segregate  them?" 

She  did  not  reply,  and  I  rode  away. 

A  week  later  I  met  her  one  evening  at  Otupoto,  that 
dividing  place  between  the  valleys  of  Taaoa  and  Atuona, 
where  Kahuiti  and  his  fellow  warriors  had  trapped  the 
human  meat.  I  had  walked  there  to  sit  on  the  edge 
of  the  precipice  and  watch  the  sun  set  in  the  sea.  She 
came  on  horseback  from  her  home  toward  the  village, 
to  spend  Sunday  with  the  nuns.  She  got  off  her  horse 
when  she  saw  me,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"What  do  you  do  here  all  alone?"  she  asked  in  French. 
She  never  used  a  word  of  Marquesan  to  me.  I  replied 
that  I  was  trying  to  imagine  myself  there  fifty  years 
earlier,  when  the  meddlesome  white  sang  very  low  in 
the  concert  of  the  island  powers. 

"The  people  were  happier  then,  I  suppose,"  she  said 
meditatively,  as  she  handed  me  her  burning  cigarette 
in  the  courteous  way  of  her  mother's  people.  "But 
it  does  not  attract  me.  I  would  like  to  see  the  world 
I  read  of." 

She  sat  beside  me  on  the  rock,  her  delicately-modeled 
chin  on  her  pink  palm,  and  gazed  at  the  colors  fading 
from  vivid  gold  and  rose  to  yellow  and  mauve  on  the 
sky  and  the  sea.  The  quietness  of  the  scene,  the  gather- 
ing twilight,  perhaps,  too,  something  in  the  fact  that  I 
was  a  white  man  and  a  stranger,  broke  down  her  reserve. 

"But  with  whom  can  I  see  that  world?"  she  said  with 
sudden  passion.  "Money — I  have  it.  I  don't  want  it. 
I  want  to  be  loved.  I  want  a  man.  What  shall  I 
do?  I  cannot  marry  a  native,  for  they  do  not  think 


266  WHITE  SHADOWS 

as  I  do.  I — I  dread  to  marry  a  Frenchman.  You 
know  le  droit  du  mari?  A  French  wife  has  no  free- 
dom." 

I  cited  Madame  Bapp,  who  chastised  her  spouse. 

"He  is  no  man,  that  criquet!"  she  said  scornfully. 

"I  would  be  better  off  not  to  marry,  if  J  had  a  real 
man  who  loved  me,  and  who  would  take  me  across  the 
sea!  What  am  I  saying?  The  nuns  would  be  shocked. 
I  do  not  know — oh,  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  that  tears 
at  me!  But  I  want  to  see  the  world,  and  I  want  a 
man  to  love  me." 

"Your  islands  here  are  more  beautiful  than  any  of 
the  developed  countries,"  I  said.  "There  are  many 
thieves  there,  too,  to  take  your  money." 

"I  have  read  that,"  she  answered,  "and  I  am  not 
afraid.  I  am  afraid  of  nothing.  I  want  to  know  a 
different  life  than  here.  I  will  at  least  go  to  Tahiti. 
I  am  tired  of  the  convent.  The  nuns  talk  always  of 
religion,  and  I  am  young,  and  I  am  half  French.  We 
die  young,  most  of  us,  and  I  have  had  no  pleasure." 

I  saw  her  black  eyes,  as  she  puffed  her  cigarette, 
shining  with  her  vision.  Some  man  would  put  tears 
in  them  soon,  I  thought,  if  she  chose  that  path. 

Would  she  be  happy  in  Tahiti?  If  she  could  find 
one  of  her  own  kind,  a  half-caste,  a  paragon  of  kindness 
and  fidelity,  she  might  be.  With  the  white  she  would 
know  only  torture.  There  is  but  one  American  that 
I  know  who  has  made  a  native  girl  happy.  Lovina, 
who  keeps  the  Tiare  Hotel  in  Papeite  and  who  knows 
the  gossip  of  all  the  South  Seas,  told  me  the  story  one 
day  after  he  had  come  to  the  hotel  to  fetch  two  dinners 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  267 

to  his  home.  He  had  a  handsome  motor-car,  and  the 
man  himself  was  so  clean -looking,  so  precise  in  every 
word  and  motion,  that  I  spoke  of  the  contrast  to  the 
skippers,  officials,  and  tourists  who  lounged  about 
Lovina's  bar. 

"He  is  a  strange  one,  that  man,"  said  Lovina.  "Two 
years  ago  I  have  nice  girl  here,  wait  on  bar,  look  sweet, 
and  I  make  her  jus'  so  my  daughter.  I  go  America 
for  visit,  and  when  I  come  back  that  girl  ruin'.  That 
American  take  her  'way,  and  he  come  tell  me  straight  he 
could  n't  help  it.  He  jus'  love  her — mad.  He  build 
her  fine  house,  get  automobile.  She  never  work. 
Every  day  he  come  here  get  meals  take  home." 

That  tall,  straight  chap,  his  hair  prematurely  gray, 
his  face  sad,  had  made  the  barmaid  the  jewel  of  a  golden 
setting.  He  devoted  himself  and  his  income  solely  to 
her.  Stranger  still,  he  had  made  her  his  legal  wife. 

But  she  is  an  exception  rare  as  rain  in  Aden.  These 
native  girls  of  mixed  blood,  living  tragedies  sprung 
from  the  uncaring  selfishness  of  the  whites,  struggle 
desperately  to  lift  themselves  above  the  mire  in  which 
the  native  is  sinking.  They  throw  themselves  away  on 
worthless  adventurers,  who  waste  their  little  patrimony, 
break  their  hearts,  and  either  desert  them  after  the  first 
flush  of  passion  passes,  or  themselves  sink  into  a  life 
of  lazy  slovenliness  worse  than  that  of  the  native. 

All  these  things  I  pondered  when  Mile.  N spoke 

of  her  hope  of  finding  happiness  in  Tahiti.  I  was  sure 
that,  with  her  wealth,  she  would  have  many  suitors, — 
but  what  of  a  tender  heart? 

"It  is  love  I  want,"  she  said.     "Love  and  freedom. 


268  WHITE  SHADOWS 

We  women  are  used  to  having  our  own  way.  I  know 
the  nuns  would  be  horrified,  but  I  shall  bind  myself  to 
no  man." 

The  last  colors  of  the  sunset  faded  slowly  on  the  sea, 
and  the  world  was  a  soft  gray  filled  with  the  radiance 

of  the  rising  moon.  I  rose  and  when  Mile.  N had 

mounted  I  strolled  ahead  of  her  horse  in  the  moonlight. 
I  was  wearing  a  tuberose  over  my  ear,  and  she  remarked 
it. 

"You  know  what  that  signifies?  If  a  man  seeks  a 
woman,  he  wears  a  white  flower  over  his  ear,  and  if  his 
love  grows  ardent,  he  wears  a  red  rose  or  hibiscus.  But 
if  he  tires,  he  puts  some  green  thing  in  their  place. 
Bon  dieu!  That  is  the  depth  of  ignominy  for  the 
woman  scorned.  I  remember  one  girl  who  was  made 
light  of  that  way  in  church.  She  stayed  a  day  hidden 
in  the  hills  weeping,  and  then  she  threw  herself  from 
a  cliff." 

There  was  in  her  manner  a  melancholy  and  a  longing. 

"Tahitians  wear  flowers  all  the  day,"  I  said.  "They 
are  gay,  and  life  is  pleasant  upon  their  island.  There 
are  automobiles  by  the  score,  cinemas,  singing,  and 
dancing  every  evening,  and  many  Europeans  and 
Americans.  With  money  you  could  have  everything." 

"It  is  not  singing  and  dancing  I  desire!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Pas  de  tout!  I  must  know  more  people, 
and  not  people  like  priests  and  these  copra  dealers.  I 
have  read  in  novels  of  men  who  are  like  gods,  who  are 
bold  and  strong,  but  who  make  their  women  happy. 
Do  you  know  an  officer  of  the  Zelee,  with  hair  like  a 
ripe  banana?  He  is  tall  and  plays  the  banjo.  I  saw 
him  one  time  long  ago  when  the  warship  was  here.  He 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  269 

was  on  the  governor's  veranda.  Oh,  that  was  long  ago, 
but  such  a  young  man  would  be  the  man  that  I  want." 

Her  Marquesan  blood  was  speaking  in  that  cry  of 
the  heart,  unrestrained  and  passionate.  They  are  not 
the  cold,  chaste  women  of  other  climes,  these  women  of 
the  Marquesas;  with  blood  at  fever  heat  and  hearts 
beating  like  wild  things  against  bars,  they  listen  when 
love  or  its  counterfeit  pours  into  their  ears  those  soft 
words  with  nothing  in  them  that  make  a  song.  They 
have  no  barriers  of  reserve  or  haughtiness;  they  make 
no  bargains;  they  go  where  the  heart  goes,  careless  of 
certified  vows. 

"Mon  dieu!"  Mile.  N exclaimed  and  put  her 

tiny  hand  to  her  red  lips.  "What  if  the  good  sisters 
heard  me?  I  am  bad.  I  know.  Eh  bien!  I  am 
Marquesan  after  all." 

We  were  about  to  cross  the  stream  by  my  cabin,  and 
I  mounted  the  horse  behind  her  to  save  a  wetting.  She 
turned  impulsively  and  looked  at  me,  her  lovely  face 
close  to  mine,  her  dark  eyes  burning,  and  her  hot  breath 
on  my  cheek. 

"Write  to  me  when  you  are  in  Tahiti,  and  tell  me  if 
you  think  I  would  be  happy  there?"  she  said  implor- 
ingly. "I  have  no  friends  here,  except  the  nuns.  I 
need  so  much  to  go  away.  I  am  dying  here." 

Coming  up  my  trail  a  few  days  later,  I  found  on  my 
paepae  a  shabbily  dressed  little  bag-of -bones  of  a  white 
man,  with  a  dirty  gray  beard  and  a  harsh  voice  like 
that  of  Baufre.  He  had  a  note  to  me  from  Le  Brunnec, 
introducing  M.  Lemoal,  born  in  Brest,  a  naturalized 
American.  The  note  was  sealed,  and  I  put  it  care- 
fully away  before  turning  to  my  visitor.  It  read : 


270  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"CHER  CITOYEN: 

"I  send  you  a  specimen  of  the  Marquesan  beaches, 
so  that  you  can  have  a  little  fun.  This  fellow  have 
a  very  tremendous  life.  He  is  an  old  sailor,  pirate, 
gold-miner,  Chinese-hanger,  thief,  robber,  honest-man, 
baker,  trader;  in  a  word,  an  interesting  type.  With 
the  aid  of  several  glasses  of  wine  I  have  put  him  in 
the  mood  to  talk  delightfully." 

A  low-browed  man  was  Lemoal,  sapped  and  ruth- 
lesSj  but  certainly  he  had  adventured. 

Was  the  Bella  Union  Theater  still  there  in  Frisco? 
Did  they  still  fight  in  Bottle  Meyers,  and  was  his  friend 
Tasset  on  the  police  force  yet?  His  memories  of  San 
Francisco  ante-dated  mine.  He  had  been  a  hoodlum 
there,  and  had  helped  to  hang  Chinese.  He  had  gone 
to  Tahiti  in  1870  and  made  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
keeping  a  bakery.  That  fortune  had  lasted  him  dur- 
ing two  years'  tour  of  the  world. 

"Now  I  'm  bust,"  he  said  bitterly.  "Now  I  got  no 
woman,  no  children,  no  friends,  and  I  don't  want  none. 
I  am  by  myself  and  damn  everybody!" 

I  soothed  his  misanthropy  with  two  fingers  of  rum, 
and  he  mellowed  into  advice. 

"I  saw  you  with  that  daughter  of  Liha-Liha,"  he 
said,  using  the  native  name  of  the  dead  millionaire. 
"You  be  careful.  One  time  I  baked  bread  in  Taaoa. 
My  oven  was  near  his  plantation.  I  saw  that  girl  come 
into  the  woods  and  take  off  her  dress.  She  had  a  mirror 
to  see  her  back,  and  I  looked,  and  the  sun  shone  bright. 
What  she  saw,  I  saw — a  patch  of  white.  She  is  a  leper, 
that  rich  girl." 

His  eyes  were  full  of  hate. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  271 

"You  don't  like  her,"  I  said.     "Why?" 

"Why?  Why?"  he  screamed.  "Because  her  father 
was  an  accursed  villian.  He  was  always  kissing  the 
dirty  hands  of  the  priests.  He  used  to  give  his  work- 
men opium  to  make  them  work  faster,  and  then  he 
would  go  to  church.  He  made  his  money,  yes.  He 
was  damn  hypocrite.  And  now  his  daughter,  with  all 
that  rotten  money,  is  a  leper.  I  tell  everybody  what 
I  saw.  Everybody  here  knows  it  but  you.  Everybody 
will  know  it  in  Tahiti  if  she  goes  there." 

The  man  was  like  a  snake  to  me.  I  threw  away  the 
glass  he  had  drunk  from.  And  yet — was  it  idle  curi- 
osity, or  was  it  fear  of  being  shut  away  in  the  valley 
outside  Papeite  by  the  quarantine  officers,  that  made 
her  ask  me  that  question  about  the  segregation  of 
lepers  ? 

Liha-Liha  had  spent  thirty  years  making  money. 
He  had  coined  the  sweat  and  blood  and  lives  of  a  thou- 
sand Marquesans  into  a  golden  fortune,  and  he  had 
left  behind  him  that  fortune,  a  marble  tomb,  and  Mile. 
N . 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  journey  to  Nuka-hiva;  story  of  the  celebration  of  the  f£te  of  Joan  of 
Arc,  and  the  miracles  of  the  white  horse  and  the  girl. 

'TWERE  VICTORIEN  said  that  I  must  not  leave 
r^  the  Marquesas  before  I  visited  the  island  of 

A  Nuka-hiva  seventy  miles  to  the  northward  and 
saw  there  in  Tai-o-hae,  the  capital  of  the  northern  group 
of  islands,  a  real  saint. 

"A  wonderful  servant  of  Christ,"  he  said,  "Pere 
Simeon  Delmas.  He  is  very  old,  and  has  been  there 
since  the  days  of  strife.  He  has  not  been  away  from 
the  islands  for  fifty  years,  but  God  preserves  him  for 
His  honor  and  service.  Pere  Simeon  would  be  one  of 
the  first  in  our  order  were  he  in  Europe,  but  he  is  a 
martyr  and  wishes  to  earn  his  crown  in  these  islands 
and  die  among  his  charges.  He  is  a  saint,  as  truly 
as  the  blessed  ones  of  old. 

"It  was  he  who  planned  the  magnificent  celebration 
of  the  feast  of  Joan  of  Arc  some  years  ago,  and  as  to 
miracles,  I  truly  believe  that  the  keeping  safe  of  the 
white  horse  during  the  terrible  storm  and  perhaps  even 
the  preservation  of  a  maiden  worthy  to  appear  in  the 
armor  of  the  Maid,  are  miracles  as  veritable  as  the  ap- 
parition at  Lourdes.  Pour  moi,  I  am  convinced  that 
Joan  is  one  of  the  most  glorious  saints  in  heaven,  and 
that  Pere  Simeon  himself  is  of  the  band  of  blessed 
martyrs." 

"Ah,  Pere  Victorien,  I  would  like  nothing  better  than 

272 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  273 

to  meet  that  good  man,"  I  said,  "but  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
get  to  Tai-o-hae.  The  Roberta,  Capriata's  steamer, 
will  not  be  here  for  many  weeks,  and  there  is  no  other 
in  the  archipelago  just  now." 

"You  shall  return  with  me  in  the  Jeanne  d'Arc"  he 
replied  quickly.  "It  may  be  an  arduous  voyage  for 
you,  but  you  will  be  well  repaid." 

A  fortnight  later  his  steersman  came  running  to  my 
cabin  to  tell  me  to  be  ready  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

The  night  was  a  myriad  of  stars  on  a  vast  ebon 
canopy.  One  could  see  only  shadows  in  denser  shad- 
ows, and  the  serene  sure  movements  of  the  men  as  they 
lifted  the  whale-boat  from  Bauda's  shed  and  carried 
it  lightly  to  the  water  were  mysterious  to  me.  Their 
eyes  saw  where  mine  were  blind.  Pere  Victorien  and 
I  were  seated  in  the  boat,  and  they  shoved  off,  breast- 
deep  in  the  turmoil  of  the  breakers,  running  alongside 
the  bobbing  craft  until  it  was  in  the  welter  of  foam 
and,  then  with  a  chorus,  in  unison,  lifting  themselves 
over  the  sides  and  seizing  the  oars  before  the  boat  could 
turn  broadside  to  the  shore. 

"He-ee  Nuka-hiva !"  they  sang  in  a  soft  monotone, 
while  they  pulled  hard  for  the  mouth  of  the  bay.  The 
priest  and  I  were  fairly  comfortable  in  the  stern,  the 
steersman  perched  behind  us  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
combing,  balancing  himself  to  the  rise  and  fall  of  the 
boat  as  an  acrobat  on  a  rope.  I  laid  my  head  on  my 
bag  and  fell  asleep  before  the  sea  had  been  reached. 
The  last  sound  in  my  ears  was  the  voice  of  Pere  Vic- 
torien reciting  his  rosary. 

I  awoke  to  find  a  breeze  careening  our  sail  and  the 


274  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Jeanne  d'Arc  rushing  through  a  pale  blue  world — pale 
blue  water,  pale  blue  sky,  and,  it  seemed,  pale  blue  air. 
No  single  solid  thing  but  the  boat  was  to  be  seen  in 
the  indefinite  immensity.  Sprawling  on  its  bottom  in 
every  attitude  of  limp  relaxation,  the  oarsmen  lay 
asleep;  only  Pere  Victorien  was  awake,  his  hands  on 
the  tiller  and  his  eyes  gazing  toward  the  east. 

"Bonjour!"  said  he.  "You  have  slept  well.  Your 
angel  guardian  thinks  well  of  you.  The  dawn  comes." 

I  asked  him  if  I  might  relieve  him  of  tiller  and  sheet, 
and  he,  with  an  injunction  to  keep  the  sail  full  and  far, 
unpocketed  his  breviary,  and  was  instantly  absorbed  in 
its  contents. 

Our  tack  was  toward  the  eastern  distance,  and  no 
glimpse  of  land  or  cloud  made  us  aught  but  solitary 
travelers  in  illimitable  space.  The  sun  was  beneath  the 
deep,  but  in  the  hush  of  the  pale  light  one  felt  the  awe 
of  its  coming.  Slowly  a  faint  glow  began  to  gild  a  line 
that  circled  the  farthest  east.  Gold  it  was  at  first,  like 
a  segment  of  a  marriage  ring,  then  a  bolt  of  copper  shot 
from  the  level  waters  to  the  zenith  and  a  thousand  vivid 
colors  were  emptied  upon  the  sky  and  the  sea.  Roses 
were  strewn  on  the  glowing  waste,  rose  and  gold  and 
purple  curtained  the  horizon,  and  suddenly,  without 
warning,  abrupt  as  lightning,  the  sun  beamed  hot  above 
the  edge  of  the  world. 

The  Marquesans  stirred,  their  bodies  stretched  and 
their  lungs  expanded  in  the  throes  of  returning  con- 
sciousness. Then  one  sat  up  and  called  loudly,  "A 
titahi  a  atu!  Another  day!"  The  others  rose,  and  im- 
mediately began  to  uncover  the  popoi  bowl.  They  had 
canned  fish  and  bread,  too,  and  ate  steadily,  without  a 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  275 

word,  for  ten  minutes.  The  steersman,  who  had  joined 
them,  returned  to  the  helm,  and  the  priest  and  I  en- 
joyed the  bananas  and  canned  beef  with  water  from  the 
jug,  and  cigarettes. 

All  day  the  Jeanne  d'Arc  held  steadily  on  the  several 
tacks  we  steered,  and  all  day  no  living  thing  but  bird 
or  fish  disturbed  the  loneliness  of  the  great  empty  sea. 
Pere  Victorien  read  his  breviary  or  told  his  beads  in 
abstracted  contemplation,  and  I,  lying  on  the  bottom  of 
the  boat  with  my  hat  shielding  my  eyes  from  the  beat- 
ing rays  of  the  sun,  pondered  on  what  I  knew  of  Tai- 
o-hae,  the  port  on  the  island  of  Nuka-hiva,  to  which 
we  were  bound. 

For  two  hundred  years  after  the  discovery  of  the 
southern  group — the  islands  we  had  left  behind  us — the 
northern  group  was  still  unknown  to  the  world.  Cap- 
tain Ingraham,  of  Boston,  found  Nuka-hiva  in  1791, 
and  called  the  seven  small  islets  the  Washington 
Islands.  Twenty  years  later,  during  the  war  of  1812, 
Porter  refitted  his  ships  there  to  prey  upon  the  British, 
and  but  for  the  perfidy, — or,  from  another  view,  the 
patriotism, — of  an  Englishman  in  his  command,  Porter 
might  have  succeeded  in  making  the  Marquesas  Amer- 
ican possessions. 

Tai-o-hae  became  the  seat  of  power  of  the  whites  in 
the  islands;  it  waxed  in  importance,  saw  admirals,  gov- 
ernors, and  bishops  sitting  in  state  on  the  broad  veran- 
das of  government  buildings,  witnessed  that  new  thing, 
the  making  of  a  king  and  queen,  knew  the  stolid  march 
of  convicts,  white  and  brown,  images  of  saints  carried 
in  processions,  and  schools  opened  to  regenerate  the 
vace  of  idol-worshippers. 


276  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Tai-o-hae  saw  all  the  plans  of  grandeur  wane,  saw 
saloons  and  opium,  vice  and  disease,  fastened  upon  the 
natives,  and  saw  the  converted,  the  old  gods  overthrown, 
the  new  God  reigning,  cut  down  like  trees  when  the 
fire  runs  wild  in  the  forest. 

The  dream  of  minting  the  strength  and  happiness 
of  the  giant  men  of  the  islands  into  gold  for  the  white 
labor-kings  dissolved  into  a  nightmare  as  the  giants  per- 
ished. It  was  hard  to  make  the  free  peoples  toil  as 
slaves  for  foreign  masters,  so  the  foreign  masters 
brought  opium.  To  get  this  "Cause  of  Wonder  Sleep," 
of  more  delight  than  kava,  the  Marquesan  was  taught 
to  hoe  and  garner  cotton,  to  gather  copra  and  even  to 
become  the  servant  of  the  white  man.  The  hopes  of 
the  invaders  were  rosy.  They  faded  quickly.  The 
Marquesans  faded  faster.  The  saloons  of  Tai-o-hae 
were  gutters  of  drunkenness.  The  paepaes  were  wail- 
ing-places  for  the  dead.  No  government  arrested  vice 
or  stopped  the  traffic  in  death-dealing  drugs  until  too 
late.  Then,  with  no  people  left  to  exploit,  the  colonial 
ministers  in  Paris  forgot  the  Marquesas. 

In  the  lifetime  of  a  man,  Tai-o-hae  swelled  from  a 
simple  native  village  with  thousands  of  healthy,  happy 
people,  to  the  capital  of  an  archipelago,  with  warships, 
troops,  prisons,  churches,  schools,  and  plantations,  and 
reverted  to  a  deserted,  melancholy  beach,  with  decay- 
ing, uninhabited  buildings  testifying  to  catastrophe. 
Since  Kahuiti,  my  man-eating  friend  of  Taaoa,  was 
born,  the  cycle  had  been  completed. 

I  was  on  my  way  now  to  see,  in  Tai-o-hae,  a  man 
who  was  giving  his  life  to  bring  the  white  man's  religion 
to  the  few  dying  natives  who  remained. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  277 

At  dusk  the  wind  died,  and  we  put  out  the  oars. 
Hour  after  hour  the  rowers  pulled,  chanting  at  times 
ancient  lays  of  the  war-canoes,  of  the  fierce  fights  of 
their  fathers  when  hundreds  fed  the  sharks  after  the 
destruction  of  their  vessels  by  the  conquerors,  and  of 
the  old  gods  who  had  reigned  before  the  white  men  came. 
Pere  Victorien  listened  musingly. 

"They  should  be  singing  of  the  Blessed  Mother  or  of 
Joan,"  he  said  with  sorrow.  "But  when  they  pull  so 
well  I  cannot  deny  them  a  thread  of  that  old  pagan 
warp.  Those  devils  whom  they  once  worshipped  wait 
about  incessantly  for  a  word  of  praise.  They  hate  the 
idea  that  we  are  hurrying  to  the  mission,  and  they  would 
like  well  to  delay  us." 

Whatever  the  desires  of  those  devils,  they  were 
balked,  for  the  wind  came  fair  during  the  second  night, 
and  when  the  second  dawning  came  we  were  in  the  bay 
of  Tai-o-hae. 

It  was  a  basin  of  motionless  green  water,  held  in  the 
curve  of  a  shore  shaped  like  a  horseshoe,  with  two  huge 
headlands  of  rock  for  the  calks.  The  beach  was  a  rim 
of  white  between  the  azure  of  the  water  and  the  dark 
green  of  the  hills  that  rose  steeply  from  it.  Above 
them  the  clouds  hung  in  varying  shapes,  here  lit  by  the 
sun  to  snowy  fleece,  there  black  and  lowering.  On  the 
lower  slopes  a  few  houses  peeped  from  the  embowering 
parau  trees,  and  on  a  small  hill,  near  the  dismantled 
fort,  the  flag  of  France  drooped  above  the  gendarme's 
cabin. 

By  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  we  reached 
the  shore,  the  beach  was  shimmering  in  the  sunlight, 
the  sand  gleaming  under  the  intense  rays  as  if  reflecting 


278  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  beams  of  gigantic  mirrors.  Heat-waves  quivered 
in  the  moist  air. 

This  was  the  beach  that  had  witnessed  the  strange 
career  of  John  Howard,  a  Yankee  sailor  who  had  fled 
a  Yankee  ship  fifty  years  before  and  made  his  bed  for 
good  and  all  in  the  Marquesas.  Lying  Bill  Pincher 
had  told  me  the  story.  Howard,  known  to  the  natives 
as  T'yonny,  had  been  welcomed  by  them  in  their  gen- 
erous way,  and  the  tahuna  had  decorated  him  from 
head  to  foot  in  the  very  highest  style  of  the  period.  In 
a  few  years,  what  with  this  tattooing  and  with  sunburn, 
one  would  have  sworn  him  to  be  a  Polynesian.  He 
was  ambitious,  and  by  alliances  acquired  an  entire  valley, 
which  he  left  to  his  son,  T'yonny  Junior.  Mr.  Howard, 
senior,  garbed  himself  like  the  natives  and  was  like  them 
in  many  ways,  but  he  retained  a  deep  love  for  his  coun- 
try and  its  flag,  and  when  he  saw  an  American  man- 
of-war  entering  the  harbor,  he  went  aboard  with  his 
many  tawny  relatives-in-law. 

The  captain  was  amazed  to  hear  him  talking  with  the 
sailors. 

"  'E  was  blooming  well  knocked  off  'is  pins,"  said  Ly- 
ing Bill.  "  'Blow  me!'  'e  sez,  'if  that  blooming  cannibal 
don't  talk  the  King's  English  as  if  'e  was  born  in  New 
York!'  'E  'ad  'im  down  in  the  cabin  to  'ave  a  drink, 
thinking  'e  was  a  big  chief.  'Oward  took  a  cigar  and 
smoked  it  and  drank  'is  whiskey  with  a  gulp  and  a  wry 
face  like  all  Americans. 

"  'I  must  say,'  sez  the  captain,  'you're  the  most  in- 
telligent 'eathen  I  've  seen  in  the  'ole  blooming  run.' 

""Eathen?'  sez  'Oward.  'Me  a  'eathen!  I  was 
born  in  Iowa,  and  I  'm  a  blooming  good  American.' 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  279 

"  'What,  you  an  American  citizen?'  sez  the  captain. 
'Born  in  my  own  state,  and  painted  up  like  Sitting  Bull 
on  the  warpath?  Get  off  this  ship,'  sez  'e,  wild,  'get 
off  this  ship,  or  I  '11  put  you  in  irons  and  take  you  back 
to  the  blooming  jail  you  escaped  from!' 

"  'Oward  leaped  over  the  side  and  swum  ashore." 

An  avenue  ran  the  length  of  the  beach,  shaded  by 
trees,  and  crossing  a  gentle  stream.  Along  this  avenue 
was  all  the  life  and  commerce  of  Tai-o-hae.  Two 
traders'  shops,  empty  offices,  a  gendarme,  a  handful  of 
motley  half-castes  lounging  under  the  trees — this  was 
all  that  was  left  of  former  greatness.  Only  nature  had 
not  changed.  It  flung  over  the  broken  remnants  of  the 
glory  and  the  dream  its  lovely  cloak  of  verdure  and  of 
flower.  Man  had  almost  ceased  to  be  a  figure  in  the 
scene  he  had  dominated  for  untold  centuries. 

Crossing  the  stepping-stones  of  the  brook  we  met  a 
darkish,  stout  man  in  overalls. 

"Good  morn',"  he  said  pleasantly.  I  looked  at  him 
and  guessed  his  name  at  once. 

"Good-morning,"  I  answered.  "You  are  the  son  of 
T'yonny." 

"My  father,  Mist'  Howard,  dead,"  he  said.  "You 
Menike  like  him?" 

Before  I  could  answer  something  entered  my  ear  and 
something  my  nose.  These  somethings  buzzed  and  bit 
fearsomely.  I  coughed  and  sputtered.  An  old  woman 
on  the  bank  was  sitting  in  the  smudge  of  a  fire  of  cocoa* 
nut  husks.  She  was  scratching  her  arms  and  legs,  cov- 
ered with  angry  red  blotches. 

"The  nonos  never  stop  biting,"  she  said  in  French. 
These  nonos  are  the  dread  sand-flies  that  Pere  Victorien 


280  WHITE  SHADOWS 

had  run  from  to  get  some  sleep  in  Atuona.  They  are  a 
kind  of  gadfly,  red-hot  needles  on  wings. 

We  sauntered  along  the  road,  tormented  by  the 
buzzing  pests  at  which  we  constantly  slapped  and,  cross- 
ing a  tiny  bridge  over  the  brook,  approached  the  Mission 
of  Tai-o-hae,  that  once  pompous  and  powerful  center 
of  the  diffusion  of  the  faith  throughout  the  Marquesas. 
The  road  was  lined  with  guavas,  mangos,  cocoanuts,  and 
tamarinds,  all  planted  with  precision  and  care.  The 
ambitious  fathers  who  had  begun  these  plantings  scores 
of  years  before  had  provided  the  choicest  fruits  for  their 
table.  All  over  the  world  the  members  of  the  great  re- 
ligious orders  of  Europe  have  carried  the  seeds  of  the 
best  varieties  of  fruits  and  flowers,  of  trees  and  shrubs 
and  vegetables;  more  than  organized  science  they  de- 
serve the  credit  for  introducing  non-native  species  into 
all  climes. 

About  the  mission  grounds  was  a  stone  wall,  stout  and 
fairly  high,  which  had  assured  protection  when  orgies  of 
indulgence  in  rum  had  made  the  natives  brutal.  The 
clergy  must  survive  if  souls  are  to  be  saved.  Within 
the  Wall  stood  the  church,  the  school,  and  a  rambling 
rectory,  all  made  beautiful  by  age  and  the  artistry  of 
tropical  nature.  Mosses  and  lichens,  mosaics  of  many 
shades  of  green,  faint  touches  of  red  and  yellow  mould, 
covered  the  old  walls  which  were  fast  decaying  and  fall- 
ing to  pieces. 

By  the  half -unhinged  door  stood  an  old  man  of  vener- 
able figure,  his  long  beard  still  dark,  though  his  hair  was 
quite  white.  He  wore  a  soiled  soutane  down  to  the 
ankles  of  his  rusty  shoes,  a  sweaty,  stained,  smothering 
gown  of  black  broadcloth,  which  rose  and  fell  with  his 


Gathering  ihefeis  in  the  mountains 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  281 

hurried  respiration.  His  eyes  of  deepest  brown,  large 
and  lustrous,  were  the  eyes  of  an  old  child,  shining  with 
simple  enthusiasms  and  lit  with  a  hundred  memories  of 
worthy  accomplishments  or  efforts. 

Pere  Victorien  presented  me,  saying  that  I  was  a 
lover  of  the  Marquesas,  and  specially  interested  in  Joan 
of  Arc.  Pere  Simeon  seized  me  by  the  hand  and,  draw- 
ing me  toward  him,  gave  me  the  accolade  as  if  I  were  a 
reunited  brother.  Then  he  presented  me  to  a  Mar- 
quesan  man  at  his  side,  "Le  chef  de  I'isle  de  Huapu" 
who  was  waiting  to  escort  him  to  that  island  that  he 
might  say  mass  and  hear  confession.  The  chief  was  for 
leaving  at  once,  and  Pere  Simeon  lamented  that  he  had 
no  time  in  which  to  talk  to  me. 

I  said  I  had  heard  it  bruited  in  my  island  of  Hiva-oa 
that  the  celebration  of  the  fete  of  Joan  of  Arc  had  been 
marked  by  extraordinary  events  indicating  a  special  ap- 
preciation by  the  heavenly  hosts. 

Tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  old  priest.  He  dis- 
missed the  chief  at  once,  and  after  saying  farewell  to 
Pere  Victorien,  who  was  embarking  immediately  for  his 
own  island  of  Haitheu,  Pere  Simeon  and  I  entered  his 
study,  a  pitifully  shabby  room  where  rickety  furniture, 
quaking  floor,  tattered  wall-coverings,  and  cracked 
plates  and  goblets  spelled  the  story  of  the  passing  of 
an  institution  once  possessing  grandeur  and  force. 
Seated  in  the  only  two  sound  chairs,  with  wine  and 
cigarettes  before  us,  we  took  up  the  subject  so  dear 
to  Pere  Simeon's  heart. 

"I  am  glad  if  you  cannot  be  a  Frenchman  that  at 
least  you  are  not  an  Englishman,"  he  said  fervently. 
"God  has  punished  England  for  the  murder  of  Jeanne 


282  WHITE  SHADOWS 

d'Arc.  That  day  at  Rouen  when  they  burned  my  be- 
loved patroness  ended  England.  Now  the  English  are 
but  merchants,  and  they  have  a  heretical  church. 

"You  should  have  seen  the  honors  we  paid  the  Maid 
here.  Mais,  Monsieur,  she  has  done  much  for  these  is- 
lands. The  natives  love  her.  She  is  a  saint.  She 
should  be  canonized.  But  the  opposition  will  not  down. 
There  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  devil,  Satan  himself, 
or  at  least  important  aides  of  his,  are  laboring  against 
the  doing  of  justice  to  the  Maid.  She  is  powerful  now, 
and  doubtless  has  great  influence  with  the  Holy  Virgin 
in  Heaven,  but  as  a  true  saint  she  would  be  invincible." 
The  old  priest's  eyes  shone  with  his  faith. 

"You  do  not  doubt  her  miraculous  intercession?"  I 
asked. 

Pere  Simeon  lit  another  cigarette,  watered  his  wine, 
and  lifted  from  a  shelf  a  sheaf  of  pamphlets.  They 
were  hectographed,  not  printed  from  type,  for  he  is  the 
human  printing-press  of  all  this  region,  and  all  were  in 
his  clear  and  exquisite  writing.  He  held  them  and  re- 
ferred to  them  as  he  went  on. 

"She  was  born  five  hundred  years  ago  on  the  day  of 
the  procession  in  Tai-o-hae.  That  itself  is  a  marvel. 
Such  an  anniversary  occurs  but  twice  in  a  millennium. 
After  all  my  humble  services  in  these  islands  that  I 
should  be  permitted  to  be  here  on  such  a  wonderful  day 
proves  to  me  the  everlasting  mercy  of  God.  Here  is 
the  account  I  have  written  in  Marquesan  of  her  life, 
and  here  the  record  of  the  fete  upon  the  anniversary." 

As  he  showed  me  the  brochures  written  beautifully  in 
purple  and  red  inks,  recording  the  history  of  the  Maid 
of  Orleans,  with  many  canticles  in  her  praise,  learned 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  283 

dissertations  upon  her  career  and  holiness,  maps  showing 
her  march  and  starred  at  Oleane,  Kopiegne,  and  Him 
to  indicate  that  great  things  had  occurred  at  Orleans, 
Compiegne,  and  Rouen,  Pere  Simeon  pointed  out  to  me 
that  it  was  of  supreme  importance  that  the  Marquesan 
people  should  be  given  a  proper  understanding  of  the 
historical  and  geographical  conditions  of  England  and 
France  in  Joan's  time. 

He  had  spent  months,  even  years,  in  preparing  for  the 
celebration  of  her  fete-day. 

"And  Monsieur,  by  the  blessed  grace  of  Joan,  only 
the  whites  got  drunk.  Not  a  Marquesan  was  far  gone 
in  liquor  throughout  the  three  days  of  the  feast.  There 
was  temptation  in  plenty,  for  though  I  gave  only  the 
chiefs  and  a  few  intimates  any  wine,  several  of  the  Euro- 
peans in  their  enthusiasm  for  our  dear  patroness  dis- 
tributed absinthe  and  rum  to  those  who  had  the  price. 
There  was  a  moment  when  it  seemed  touch  and  go  be- 
tween the  devil  and  Joan.  But,  oh,  how  she  came  to 
our  rescue!  I  reproached  the  whites,  locked  up  the 
rum,  and  Joan  did  the  rest.  It  was  a  three-days'  feast 
of  innocence." 

"But  there  are  not  many  whites  here?"  I  asked. 

"No,"  he  replied.  "There  are  one  hundred  and 
twenty  people  in  Tai-o-hae  now,  and  but  a  few  are 
whites.  Alas,  mon  ami,  they  do  not  set  a  good  example. 
They  mean  well;  they  are  brave  men,  but  they  do  not 
keep  the  commandments.  Here  is  a  chart  I  drew  show- 
ing the  rise  of  the  church  since  Peter.  It  is  divided  into 
twenty  periods,  and  I  have  allotted  the  fifteenth  to  Joan. 
She  well  merits  a  period." 

My  mind  continually  harked  back  to  the  prompting 


284  WHITE  SHADOWS 

of  Pere  Victorien  concerning  the  horse  and  the  girl  of 
the  jubilee. 

"There  were  signs  at  the  commemoration?"  I  inter- 
posed. 

Pere  Simeon  glanced  at  me  eagerly.  His  naivete 
was  not  of  ignorance  of  men  and  their  motives.  He  had 
confessed  royalty,  cannibals,  pirates,  and  nuns.  The 
souls  of  men  were  naked  under  his  scrutiny.  But  his 
faith  burned  like  a  lambent  flame,  and  to  win  to  the 
standard  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans  one  who  would  listen 
was  a  duty  owed  her,  and  a  rare  chance  to  aid  a  fellow 
mortal. 

He  rose  and  brushed  the  cigarette  ashes  down  the 
front  of  his  frayed  cassock  as  an  old  native  woman 
responded  to  his  call  and  brought  another  bottle  of  Bor- 
deaux. The  nonos  were  incessantly  active.  I  slapped 
at  them  constantly  and  sucked  at  the  wounds  they 
made.  But  he  paid  no  attention  to  them  at  all  except 
when  they  attacked  him  under  his  soutane;  then  he 
struck  convulsively  at  the  spot. 

"God  sends  us  such  trials  to  brighten  our  crown,"  he 
said  comfortingly.  "I  have  seen  white  men  dead  from 
the  nonos.  They  were  not  here  in  the  old  days,  but  since 
the  jungle  has  overrun  us  because  of  depopulation,  they 
are  frightful.  During  the  mass,  when  the  priest  cannot 
defend  himself,  they  are  worst,  as  if  sent  by  the  devil 
who  hates  the  holy  sacrifice.  But,  mon  vieucc,  you  were 
asking  about  those  signs.  Alors,  I  will  give  the  facts  to 
you,  and  you  can  judge." 

He  poured  me  a  goblet  of  the  wine;  I  removed  my 
cotton  coat,  covered  my  hands  with  it,  against  the  gad- 
flies, and  prepared  to  listen. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  285 

"Seven  years  before  the  great  anniversary,"  said  Pere 
Simeon,  sipping  his  wine,  "I  thought  out  my  plan. 
There  would  be  masses,  vespers,  benedictions,  litanies, 
and  choirs.  But  my  mind  was  set  upon  a  representa- 
tion of  the  Maid  as  she  rode  into  Rheims  to  crown  the 
king  after  her  victories.  She  was,  you  will  remember, 
clothed  all  in  white  armor  and  rode  a  white  horse,  both 
the  emblems  of  purity.  That  was  the  note  I  would 
sound,  for  I  believe  too  much  had  been  made  of  Joan  the 
warrior,  Joan  the  heroine,  and  not  enough  of  Joan  the 
saint.  Oh,  Monsieur,  there  have  been  evil  forces  at 
work  there!" 

He  clasped  his  thigh  with  both  hands  and  groaned, 
and  I  knew  that  though  a  nono  had  bitten  him  there,  his 
anguish  was  more  of  soul  than  body.  I  lighted  his 
cigarette,  as  he  proceeded : 

"Two  things  were  needful  above  all;  a  handsome 
white  horse  and  a  Marquesan  girl  of  virtue.  Three 
years  before  the  jubilee  I  was  enabled,  through  a  gift 
inspired  by  Joan,  to  buy  a  horse  of  that  kind  in  Hiva-oa. 
I  had  this  mare  pastured  on  that  island  until  the  time 
came  for  bringing  her  here. 

"Now  as  to  the  girl,  I  found  in  the  nun's  school  a  child 
who  was  beautiful,  strong,  and  good.  Her  father  was 
the  captain  of  a  foreign  vessel  and  had  dwelt  here  for  a 
time ;  he  was  of  your  country.  Of  the  mother  I  will  not 
speak.  The  girl  was  everything  to  be  desired.  But 
this  was  seven  years  before  the  day  of  the  fete.  That 
was  a  difficulty. 

"I  stressed  to  the  good  sisters  the  absolute  necessity 
of  bringing  up  the  child  in  the  perfect  path  of  sanctity. 
I  had  her  dedicated  to  Joan,  and  special  prayers  were 


286  WHITE  SHADOWS 

said  by  me  and  by  the  nuns  that  the  evil  one  would  not 
trap  her  into  the  sins  of  other  Marquesan  girls.  Also 
she  was  observed  diligently.  For  seven  years  we 
watched  and  prayed,  and  Monsieur,  we  succeeded.  I 
will  not  say  that  it  was  a  miracle,  but  it  was  a  very  strik- 
ing triumph  for  Joan. 

"That  for  the  human;  now  for  the  beast.  A  month 
before  the  fete  I  commissioned  Captain  Capriata  to 
bring  the  mare  to  Tai-o-hae  in  his  schooner.  The  ani- 
mal came  safely  to  the  harbor.  She  was  still  on  deck 
when  a  storm  arose,  and  Capriata  thought  it  best  for 
him  to  lift  his  anchor  and  go  to  the  open  sea.  The  wind 
was  driving  hard  toward  the  shore,  and  there  was  danger 
of  shipwreck." 

The  old  priest  stood  up  and,  leading  me  to  a  window, 
pointed  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  horseshoe  circle  of 
the  bay. 

"See  that  point,"  he  said.  "Right  there,  just  as 
Capriata  swung  his  vessel  to  head  for  the  sea,  the  mare 
broke  loose  from  her  halter,  and  in  a  bound  reached  the 
rail  of  the  schooner  and  leaped  into  the  waves.  Capri- 
ata could  do  nothing.  The  schooner  was  in  peril,  and 
he,  with  his  hand  upon  the  wheel  and  his  men  at  the 
sails,  could  only  utter  an  oath.  He  confesses  he  did 
that,  and  you  will  find  no  man  more  convinced  of  the 
miracle  than  he." 

The  aged  missionary  paused,  his  eyes  glowing.  The 
nonos  that  settled  in  a  swarm  on  his  swollen,  poisoned 
hands  were  nothing  to  him  in  the  rapture  of  that 
memory. 

"This  happened  at  night.  Throughout  the  darkness 
the  schooner  stayed  outside  the  bay,  returning  only  at 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  287 

daylight.  Immediately  after  anchoring,  the  captain 
hastened  to  inform  me  of  the  misfortune,  and  found  me 
saying  mass.  It  was  one  of  the  few  times  he  had  ever 
been  in  the  sacred  edifice." 

Pejre  Simeon  smiled,  and  held  up  one  finger  to  em- 
phasize my  attention.  "As  soon  as  mass  was  finished, 
Capriata  told  me  of  what  had  happened,  and  his  cer- 
tainty that  the  mare  was  drowned.  I  fell  on  my  knees 
and  said  a  despairing  prayer  to  Joan.  That  instant  we 
heard  a  neigh  outside,  and  rushing  out  of  the  church,  we 
saw,  cropping  the  grass  in  the  mission  enclosure,  the 
white  mare  that  was  destined  to  bear  the  figure  of  Joan 
in  the  celebration  of  her  fete." 

I  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  amazement. 
"Vraiment?" 

"Absolument,"  answered  Pere  Simeon.  "Unbe- 
lievers might  explain  that  waves  swept  the  mare  ashore, 
and  that  through  some  instinct  she  found  her  way  along 
the  beach  or  over  the  hills.  But  that  she  should  come  to 
the  mission  grounds,  to  the  very  spot  where  her  home 
was  to  be,  though  she  had  never  seen  the  islands  before 
— no,  my  friend,  not  even  the  materialist  could  explain 
that  as  less  than  supernatural.  I  have  sent  the  proofs 
to  our  order  in  Belgium.  They  will  form  part  of  the 
evidence  that  will  one  day  be  offered  to  bring  about  the 
canonization  of  Joan." 

"And  the  procession,  was  it  successful?"  I  inquired. 

"Mais  oui!  It  was  magnificent.  When  it  started 
there  was  a  grand  fanfare  of  trumpets,  drums,  fire- 
works, and  guns.  Never  was  there  such  a  noise  here 
since  the  days  of  battle  between  the  whites  and  the  na- 
tives. There  were  four  choirs  of  fifty  voices  each,  the 


288  WHITE  SHADOWS 

natives  from  all  these  nearby  islands,  each  with  a  com- 
mon chant  in  French  and  particular  himines  in  Mar- 
quesan.  I  walked  first  with  the  Blessed  Sacrament; 
then  came  Captain  Capriata  with  the  banner  of  the  mis- 
sion, and  then,  proceeded  by  a  choir,  came  the  virgin  on 
the  white  horse. 

"She  was  all  in  silver  armor,  as  was  the  mare.  Two 
years  before  I  had  sent  to  France  for  the  pasteboard  and 
the  silver  paper,  and  had  made  the  armor.  The  helmet 
was  the  piece  de  resistance.  The  girl  wore  it  as  the 
Maid  herself,  and  sat  the  horse  without  faltering,  despite 
the  nonos  and  the  heat.  It  was  a  wonderful  day  for 
Joan  and  for  the  Marquesas." 

He  sat  for  a  moment  lost  in  the  vision. 

"So  it  was  all  as  you  had  planned?" 

"Mon  ami,  it  was  not  I,  but  Joan  herself,  to  whom  all 
honor  belongs.  There  was  a  moment — Captain  Capri- 
ata had  taken  absinthe  with  his  morning  popoi,  and  was 
unsteady.  He  stumbled.  I  called  to  him  to  breathe  a 
prayer  to  his  patron  saint — he  is  of  Ajaccio  in  Corsica 
— and  to  call  upon  Joan  for  aid.  He  straightened  up 
at  once,  after  one  fall,  and  bore  the  white  banner  of  the 
Maid  in  good  style  from  the  mission  to  the  deserted  inn 
by  the  leper-house. 

"We  had  three  superb  feasts,  one  on  each  day  of  the 
fete.  We  had  speeches  and  songs,  three  masses  a  day  to 
accommodate  all,  four  first  communicants,  and  two  mar- 
riages. I  will  tell  you,  though  it  may  be  denied  by  the 
commercial  missionaries,  that  five  protestants  attended 
and  recanted." 

Pere  Simeon's  eyes  flashed  as  he  recalled  those 
memorable  days.  He  fell  into  a  reverie,  scratching  his 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  289 

legs  after  the  nonos  and  letting  his  cigarette  go  out. 

I  arose  to  depart.  He  must  go  to  Huapu  with  the 
chief,  who  was  again  at  the  door. 

"And  did  the  fete  help  the  parish?"  I  asked  with  that 
bromidic  zeal  to  please  that  so  often  discloses  the  fly  just 
when  the  ointment's  smell  is  sweetest. 

"Alas!"  he  replied,  with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  his 
beard.  "Even  the  girl  who  had  worn  the  white  armor 
leaped  from  the  mast  of  a  ship  to  escape  infamy  and 
was  drowned.  Yet  there  was  grandeur  of  sacrifice  in 
that.  But  for  the  others,  they  die  fast,  too.  Some 
day  the  priest  will  be  alone  here  without  a  flock." 

He  picked  up  a  garment  or  two,  placed  the  Holy 
Sacrament  with  pious  care  in  his  breast,  and  we  walked 
together  through  the  mournful  and  decaying  village, 
passing  a  few  melancholy  natives. 

"I  said  to  Pere  Simeon  as  he  stepped  into  the  canoe, 
"You  are  like  a  shepherd  who  pursues  his  sheep  wher- 
ever they  may  wander,  to  gather  them  into  the  fold  at 
last." 

feC'est  vrcd,"  he  smiled  sadly.  "The  bishop  himself 
had  to  go  to  Hiva-oa  from  here,  because  there  were 
really  not  enough  people  left  alive  for  the  seat  of  his 
bishopric.  At  least,  there  will  be  some  here  when  I  die, 
for  I  am  old.  Ah,  thirty  years  ago,  when  I  came  here, 
there  were  souls  to  be  saved!  Thousands  of  them. 
But  I  love  the  last  one.  There  are  still  a  hundred  left 
on  Huapu.  There  is  work  yet,  for  the  devil  grows 
more  active  yearly." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

America's  claim  to  the  Marquesas;  adventures  of  Captain  Porter  in  1812; 
war  between  Haapa  and  Tai-o-hae,  and  the  conquest  of  Typee  valley. 

AMERICA  might  have  been  responsible  for  the 
death  of  the  Marquesan  race  had  not  the  young 
nation  been  engaged  in  a  deadly  struggle  with 
Great  Britain  when  an  American  naval  captain,  David 
Porter,  seized  Nuka-hiva.  A  hundred  years  ago  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  floated  over  the  little  hill  above  the 
bay,  and  American  cannon  upon  it  commanded  the 
village  of  Tai-o-hae.  Beneath  the  verdure  is  still  buried 
the  proclamation  of  Porter,  with  coins  of  the  young  re- 
public, unless  the  natives  dug  up  the  bottle  after  the 
destruction  of  the  last  of  Porter's  forces.  They  wit- 
nessed the  ceremony  of  its  planting,  which  must  have 
appeared  to  them  a  ritual  to  please  the  powerful  gods  of 
the  whites.  Unless  respect  for  the  tapu  placed  on  the 
bottle  by  "Opotee"  restrained  them,  they  probably 
brought  it  to  the  light  and  examined  the  magic  under  its 
cork. 

The  adventures  of  Porter  here  were  as  strange  and 
romantic  as  those  of  any  of  the  hundreds  of  the  gypsies 
of  the  sea  who  sailed  this  tropic  and  spilled  the  blood  of 
a  people  unused  to  their  ways  and  ignorant  of  their  in- 
ventions and  weapons  of  power. 

Porter  had  left  the  United  States  in  command  of  the 
frigate  Essex,  to  destroy  British  shipping,  capture  Brit- 
ish ships,  and  British  sailors.  Porter,  son  and  nephew 

290 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  291 

of  American  naval  officers,  destined  to  be  foster-father 
of  Farragut,  the  first  American  admiral,  and  father  of 
the  great  Admiral  Porter,  was  then  in  his  early  thirties 
and  loved  a  fight.  He  harried  the  British  in  the  At- 
lantic, doubled  Cape  Horn  without  orders,  and  did  them 
evil  on  the  high  seas,  and  at  last,  with  many  prisoners 
and  with  prize  crews  aboard  his  captures,  he  made  for 
the  Marquesas  to  refresh  his  men,  repair  his  ships,  and 
get  water,  food,  and  wood  for  the  voyage  home. 

In  Tai-o-hae  Bay  he  moored  his  fleetr  and  was  met  by 
flocks  of  friendly  canoes  and  great  numbers  of  the  beau- 
tiful island  women,  who  swam  out  to  meet  the  strangers. 
Among  them  he  found  Wilson,  an  Englishman  who  had 
long  been  here  and  who  was  tattooed  from  head  to  foot. 
On  first  seeing  this  man  Porter  was  strongly  prejudiced 
against  him,  but  found  him  extremely  useful  as  an  in- 
terpreter, and  concluded  that  he  was  an  inoffensive  fel- 
low whose  only  failing  was  a  strong  attachment  to  rum. 
With  Wilson's  eagerly  offered  help,  Porter  made 
friends  with  the  people  of  Tai-o-hae,  established  a  camp 
on  shore,  and  set  about  revictualing  his  fleet. 

The  tribes  of  Tai-o-hae,  or  Tieuhoy,  as  Porter  called 
it,  were  annoyed  by  the  combative  Hapaa  tribe,  or  col- 
lection of  tribes,  which  dwelt  in  a  nearby  valley,  and 
these  doughty  warriors  came  within  half  a  mile  of  the 
American  camp,  cut  down  the  breadfruit  trees,  and 
made  hideous  gestures  of  derision  at  the  white  men. 
In  response,  Porter  landed  a  six-pound  gun,  tremend- 
ously heavy,  and  said  that  if  the  Tai-o-hae  tribe  would 
carry  it  to  the  top  of  a  high  mountain  overlooking  the 
Hapaa  valley,  he  would  drive  the  Hapaas  from  the  hills 
where  they  stood  and  threatened  to  descend. 


292  WHITE  SHADOWS 

To  Porter's  amazement,  the  Tai-o-hae  men,  sur- 
mounting incredible  difficulties,  laid  the  gun  in  position, 
and  as  the  Hapaas  scorned  the  futile-looking  contriv- 
ance and  declared  that  they  would  not  make  peace  with 
the  whites,  Porter  sent  his  first  assistant  with  forty 
men,  armed  with  muskets  and  accompanied  by  natives 
carrying  these  weapons  and  ammunition  for  the  can- 
non. 

The  battle  began  with  a  great  roar  of  exploding  gun- 
powder, and  from  the  ships  the  Americans  saw  their 
men  driving  from  height  to  height  the  Hapaas,  who 
fought  as  they  retreated,  daring  the  enemy  to  follow 
them.  A  friendly  native  bore  the  American  flag  and 
waved  it  in  triumph  as  he  skipped  from  crag  to  crag, 
well  in  the  rear  of  the  white  men  who  pursued  the  fleeing 
enemy. 

In  the  afternoon  the  victorious  forces  descended,  car- 
rying five  dead.  The  Hapaas,  fighting  with  stones 
flung  from  slings  and  with  spears,  had  taken  refuge,  to 
the  number  of  four  or  five  thousand,  in  a  fortress  on  the 
brow  of  a  hill.  Not  one  of  them  had  been  wounded,  and 
from  their  impassable  heights  they  threw  down  jeers 
and  showers  of  stones  upon  the  retiring  Tai-o-haes  and 
their  white  allies. 

This  was  intolerable.  On  the  second  day,  with  aug- 
mented forces,  the  Americans  stormed  the  height  and 
took  the  fort,  killing  many  Hapaas,  who,  knowing  noth- 
ing of  the  effect  of  musket  bullets,  fought  till  dead. 
The  wounded  were  dispatched  with  war-clubs  by  the 
Tai-o-haes,  who  dipped  their  spears  in  the  blood.  Wil- 
son said  the  Tai-o-haes  would  eat  the  corpses.  Porter, 
horrified,  interrogated  his  allies,  who  denied  any  such 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  293 

horrid  appetite,  so  that  Porter  was  not  sure  what  to  be- 
lieve. 

The  Hapaas  were  now  become  lovers  of  the  whites, 
and  sent  a  deputation  to  complain  that  the  Taipis 
(Typees),  in  another  valley,  harrassed  them  and,  being 
their  traditional  enemies,  were  contemplating  raiding 
Hapaa  Valley.  The  Typees  were  the  most  terrible  of 
all  the  Nuka-hivans,  with  four  thousand  fighting  men, 
with  strongest  fortifications  and  the  most  resolute 
hearts. 

The  Typees  were  informed  that  they  must  be  peace- 
ful, also  that  they  must  send  many  presents  as  proof 
of  friendliness,  or  the  white  men  would  drive  them  from 
their  valley.  The  Typees  replied  that  if  Porter  were 
strong  enough,  he  could  come  and  take  them.  They 
said  the  Americans  were  white  lizards;  they  could  not 
climb  the  mountains  without  Marquesans  to  carry  their 
guns,  and  yet  they  talked  of  chastising  the  Typees,  who 
had  never  fled  before  an  enemy  and  whose  gods  were 
unbeatable.  They  dared  the  white  men  to  come  among 
them. 

At  this  juncture  Porter  faced  treachery  in  his  own 
camp.  He  had  many  English  prisoners  captured  from 
British  ships,  and  these  made  a  plot  to  escape  by  poison- 
ing the  rum  of  the  Americans.  Porter  learned  of  this, 
and  finding  an  American  sentry  asleep  he  shot  him  with 
his  own  hand,  and  ordered  every  Englishman  put  in 
irons.  He  was  also  troubled  by  mutinies  among  his 
own  men,  who  were  loth  to  face  any  more  battles, 
being  contented  as  they  were  with  plenty  of  drink,  the 
best  of  food,  and  the  passionate  devotion  of  the  native 
women,  who  thronged  the  camp  day  and  night.  With 


294  WHITE  SHADOWS 

no  light  hand  Porter  put  down  revolt  and  mutiny,  and 
prepared  to  begin  war  on  the  Typees. 

First  he  built  a  strong  fort,  assisted  by  the  Tai-o-haes 
and  Hapaas,  and  there  he  took  possession  of  the  Mar- 
quesas in  the  name  of  the  United  States.  On  Novem- 
ber 19,  1813,  the  American  flag  was  run  up  over  the 
fort,  a  salute  of  seventeen  guns  was  fired  from  the  artil- 
lery mounted  there  and  answered  from  the  ships  in  the 
bay.  Rum  was  freely  distributed,  and  standing  in  a 
great  concourse  of  wondering  natives,  with  the  English- 
man, Wilson,  at  his  side  interpreting  his  words,  Porter 
read  the  following  proclamation : 

It  is  hereby  made  known  to  the  world  that  I,  David  Porter, 
a  captain  in  the  navy  of  the  United  States  of  America,  now  in 
command  of  the  United  States  frigate  Essex,  have,  on  the  part 
of  the  United  States,  taken  possession  of  the  island  called  by 
the  natives  Nooaheevah,  generally  known  by  the  name  of  Sir 
Henry  Martin's  Island,  but  now  called  Madison's  Island.  That 
by  the  request  and  assistance  of  the  friendly  tribes  residing  in 
the  valley  of  Tieuhoy,  as  well  as  of  the  tribes  residing  on  the 
mountains,  whom  we  have  conquered  and  rendered  tributary 
to  our  flag,  I  have  caused  the  village  of  Madison  to  be  built, 
consisting  of  six  convenient  houses,  a  rope-walk,  bakery,  and 
other  appurtenances,  and  for  the  protection  of  the  same,  as 
well  as  for  that  of  the  friendly  natives,  I  have  constructed  a 
fort  calculated  for  mounting  sixteen  guns,  whereon  I  have 
mounted  four,  and  called  the  same  Fort  Madison. 

Our  rights  to  this  island  being  founded  on  Priority  of  dis- 
covery, conquest,  and  possession,  cannot  be  disputed.  But  the 
natives,  to  secure  to  themselves  that  friendly  protection  which 
their  defenseless  situation  so  much  required,  have  requested  to 
be  admitted  into  the  great  American  family,  whose  pure  re- 
publican policy  approaches  so  near  their  own.  And  in  order 
to  encourage  these  views  to  their  own  interest  and  happiness, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  295 

as  well  as  to  render  secure  our  claim  to  an  island  valuable  on 
many  considerations,  I  have  taken  on  myself  to  promise  them 
that  they  shall  be  so  adopted;  that  our  chief  shall  be  their 
chief ;  and  they  have  given  assurances  that  such  of  their  brethren 
as  may  hereafter  visit  them  from  the  United  States  shall  enjoy 
a  welcome  and  hospitable  reception  among  them  and  be  fur- 
nished with  whatever  refreshments  and  supplies  the  island  may 
afford;  that  they  will  protect  them  against  all  their  enemies 
and  as  far  as  lies  in  their  power  prevent  the  subjects  of  Great 
Britain  from  coming  among  them  until  peace  shall  take  place 
between  the  two  nations. 

There  followed  a  list  of  the  tribes  from  whom  Porter 
had  received  presents,  to  the  number  of  thirty-one  tribes, 
and  the  document  continued : 

Influenced  by  considerations  of  humanity,  which  promise 
speedy  civilization  to  a  race  of  men  who  enjoy  every  mental 
and  bodily  endowment  which  nature  can  bestow,  and  which  re- 
quires only  art  to  perfect,  as  well  as  by  views  of  policy,  which 
secure  to  my  country  a  fruitful  and  populous  island  possessing 
every  advantage  of  security  and  supplies  for  ships,  and  which 
of  all  others  is  most  happily  situated  as  respects  climate  and 
local  position,  I  do  declare  that  I  have,  in  the  most  solemn 
manner,  under  the  American  flag  displayed  in  Fort  Madison 
and  in  the  presence  of  numerous  witnesses,  taken  possession  of 
the  said  island  for  the  use  of  the  United  States. 

To  the  guileless  natives,  made  happy  with  rum,  listen- 
ing to  the  necessarily  imperfect  translation  of  these 
words,  the  ceremony  may  well  have  been  a  strange  magic 
to  unknown  gods,  but  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the 
feelings  of  Wilson,  the  tattooed  Englishman,  as  he 
translated  this  proclamation  giving  the  rich  and  happy 
islands  to  a  country  at  war  with  his  own.  He  listened 
and  repeated,  however,  with  patriotic  protests  unut- 


296  WHITE  SHADOWS 

tered,  and  prepared  to  assist  Porter  in  his  contemplated 
war  against  the  Typees. 

A  week  later  one  of  the  warships,  with  five  boats  and 
ten  war-canoes,  sailed  for  the  Typee  beach.  Ten  canoes 
of  Hapaas  joined  them  there.  The  tops  of  all  the 
neighboring  mountains  were  thronged  with  friendly 
warriors  armed  with  clubs,  spears,  and  slings,  and  alto- 
gether not  less  than  five  thousand  men  were  in  the  forces 
under  Porter,  among  them  thirty-five  Americans  with 
guns,  which  he  thought  enough. 

The  Typees  pelted  them  with  stones  as  they  sat  at 
breakfast,  and  Porter  sent  a  native  ambassador,  offering 
peace  at  the  price  of  submission.  He  came  back,  run- 
ning madly  and  bruised  by  his  reception.  Porter  then 
ordered  the  advance. 

The  company  advanced  into  the  bushes,  and  were  re- 
ceived by  a  veritable  rain  of  stones  and  spears.  Not 
an  enemy  was  in  sight.  On  all  sides  they  heard  the 
snapping  sound  of  the  slings,  the  whistling  of  the  stones, 
the  sibilant  hiss  of  the  spears  that  at  every  step  fell  in 
increasing  numbers,  but  they  could  not  see  whence  they 
came,  and  no  whisper  or  rustle  of  underbrush  revealed 
the  lurking  Typees. 

They  pushed  on,  hoping  to  get  through  the  thicket, 
which  Wilson  had  assured  them  was  of  no  great  extent. 
Lieutenant  Down's  leg  was  shattered  by  a  stone,  and 
Porter  had  to  send  a  party  with  him  to  the  rear.  This 
left  but  twenty-four  white  men.  The  native  allies  did 
no  fighting,  but  merely  looked  on.  They  were  not 
going  to  make  bitterer  enemies  of  the  Typees  if  the  god- 
like whites  could  not  whip  them.  The  situation  was 
desperate. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  297 

However,  Porter  chose  to  go  on.  They  crossed  a 
river,  and  in  a  jungle  had  to  crawl  on  their  hands  and 
knees  to  make  progress.  They  thought  themselves 
happy  to  make  their  way  through  this,  but  immediately 
found  themselves  confronted  by  a  high  wall  of  rock,  be- 
yond which  the  enemy  took  their  stand  and  showered 
down  stones.  The  cartridges  were  almost  exhausted. 
Porter  sent  four  men  to  the  ship  for  more,  and,  with 
three  men  knocked  senseless  by  stones,  was  reduced  to 
sixteen  men. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  run  for  safety,  and  pur- 
sued by  the  sneering  foe,  they  gained  the  beach. 
Thence  he  sent  another  messenger  to  the  Typees 
offering  them  another  chance  to  surrender  and  pay 
tribute. 

The  Typees  returned  word  that  they  "had  driven  the 
whites  before  them,  that  their  guns  missed  fire  often, 
that  bullets  were  not  as  painful  as  stones  or  spears,  that 
they  had  plenty  of  men  to  spare  and  the  whites  had  not. 
They  had  counted  the  boats,  knew  the  number  they 
would  carry,  and  laughed  at  the  whites." 

The  Hapaas  and  other  allies  came  down  from  the 
hills  and  began  to  discuss  the  victory  of  the  Typees,  with 
fear  in  their  voices  and  a  certain  disdain  of  the  whites. 
Porter  ordered  his  men  into  the  boats  to  return  to  the 
ship,  but  scarcely  had  they  reached  it  when  the  Typees 
rushed  on  the  Hapaas  and  drove  them  into  the  water. 
Porter  returned  to  Tai-o-hae. 

There  he  saw  no  alternative  but  to  whip  the  Typees 
soundly.  This  time  he  determined  to  lack  no  force,  and 
to  go  without  allies.  He  selected  two  hundred  men 
from  his  ships  and  prizes,  and,  with  guides,  upon  a 


298  WHITE  SHADOWS 

moonlight  evening  started  to  march  overland  to  Typee 
Valley. 

At  midnight  they  heard  the  drums  beating  in  Typee 
Valley.  They  had  had  a  fearful  march  over  mountain 
and  dale  and  around  yawning  precipices.  Silently  they 
had  struggled  on,  so  as  to  give  no  hint  of  their  intention 
to  Typee  sentinels  or  even  to  a  Hapaa  village.  Num- 
bers of  the  Tai-o-hae  had  followed  them,  but  quietly,  and 
these  now  told  Porter  that  the  songs  floating  up  from 
the  Typee  settlements  were  rejoicings  at  their  victory 
over  the  whites  and  prayers  to  the  gods  to  send  rain  to 
spoil  the  guns. 

Porter  was  for  descending  at  once,  but  the  Tai-o- 
haes  warned  him  that  the  path  was  so  steep  and 
dangerous  that  even  in  daylight  it  would  take  all  their 
skill  to  go  down  it.  To  attempt  it  at  night  would  be 
inviting  death. 

The  Americans  lay  down  to  rest  on  this  height,  which 
commanded  Typee  Valley,  and  shortly  rain  began  to 
fall  in  torrents.  Cries  of  joy  and  praise  to  their  gods 
arose  from  the  Typees.  Porter  and  his  men,  huddled 
in  puddles,  unable  to  find  shelter,  and  fearful  that  every 
blast  of  the  storm  might  hurl  them  from  their  slippery 
height,  tried  in  vain  to  keep  muskets  and  powder  dry. 

At  daybreak  they  found  half  the  ammunition  useless, 
and  themselves  wearied,  while  the  steepness  of  the  track 
to  the  valley,  and  its  treacherous  condition  after  the 
rain  made  it  wise  to  seek  the  Hapaas  for  rest  and  food. 
But,  first,  they  fired  a  volley  to  let  friendly  tribes  know 
they  still  had  serviceable  weapons,  and  as  threat  and 
warning  to  the  Typees.  They  heard  the  echo  in  the 
blowing  of  war-conches,  shouts  of  defiance,  and  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  299 

squealings  of  the  pigs  which  the  Typees  began  to  catch 
for  removal  to  the  rear. 

The  Hapaas  were  none  too  pleasant  to  the  whites,  and 
had  to  be  forced  by  threats  to  bringing  and  cooking  hogs 
and  breadfruit.  All  day  the  Americans  rested  and 
prepared  their  arms,  at  night  they  slept,  and  at  the  next 
daybreak  they  stood  again  to  view  the  scene  of  their 
approaching  battle. 

The  valley  lay  far  below  them,  about  nine  miles  in 
length  and  three  in  width,  surrounded  on  every  side,  ex- 
cept at  the  beach,  by  lofty  mountains.  The  upper  part 
was  bounded  by  a  precipice  many  hundred  feet  in 
height,  from  which  a  handsome  waterfall  dropped  and 
formed  a  meandering  stream  that  found  its  outlet  in  the 
sea.  Villages  were  scattered  here  and  there,  in  the 
shade  of  luxuriant  cocoanut-  arid  breadfruit-groves; 
plantations  were  laid  out  in  good  order,  enclosed  within 
stone  walls  and  carefully  cultivated;  roads  hedged  with 
bananas  cut  across  the  spread  of  green;  everything 
spoke  of  industry,  abundance,  and  happiness. 

A  large  force  of  Typee  warriors,  gathered  beside  the 
river  that  glided  near  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  dared 
the  invaders  to  descend.  In  their  rear  was  a  fortified 
village,  secured  by  strong  stone  walls.  Nevertheless, 
the  whites  started  down,  and  in  a  shower  of  stones  cap- 
tured the  village,  killed  the  chief  Typee  warrior,  and 
chasing  his  men  from  wall  to  wall,  slew  all  who  did  not 
escape.  Few  fled,  however;  they  charged  repeatedly, 
even  to  the  very  barrels  of  the  muskets  and  pistols. 

Porter  realized  that  he  would  have  to  fight  his  way 
over  every  foot  of  the  valley.  He  cautioned  conserva- 
tion of  cartridges,  and  leaving  two  small  parties  behind 


300  WHITE  SHADOWS 

to  guard  the  wounded,  he,  with  the  main  body,  marched 
onward,  followed  by  hordes  of  Tai-o-hae  and  Hapaa 
men,  who  dispatched  the  wounded  Typees  with  stones 
and  spears.  They  burned  and  destroyed  ten  villages 
one  by  one  as  they  were  reached,  until  the  head  of  the 
valley  was  reached. 

At  the  foot  of  the  waterfall  they  turned  and  began  the 
nine-mile  tramp  to  the  bay.  Again  they  had  to  meet 
spear  and  stone  as  they  burned  temples  and  homes, 
great  canoes,  and  wooden  gods.  Finally  Porter  at- 
tained the  fort  that  had  stopped  him  during  the  first 
fight,  and  found  it  a  magnificent  piece  of  construction, 
of  great  basaltic  slabs,  impregnable  from  the  beach 
side.  He  saw  that  if  he  had  tried  that  entrance  to  the 
valley  again,  he  would  have  failed  as  before.  Only 
heavy  artillery  could  have  conquered  that  mighty 
stronghold. 

From  the  beach  the  Americans  climbed  by  an  easier 
ascent  into  the  mountains,  leaving  a  desolated  valley 
behind  them,  and  after  feasting  with  the  Hapaas,  they 
marched  back  to  Tai-o-hae  almost  dead  with  fatigue. 

The  Typees  sued  for  peace,  and  when  asked  for  four 
hundred  hogs  sent  so  many  that  Porter  released  five 
hundred  after  branding  them.  He  had  made  peace  be- 
tween all  the  tribes;  war  was  at  an  end;  and  with  the 
island  subdued,  Porter  sailed  again  to  make  war  on 
British  shipping. 

He  left  behind  him  three  captured  ships  in  charge  of 
three  officers  and  twenty  men,  with  six  prisoners  of  war, 
ordering  them  to  remain  five  months  and  then  go  to 
Chile  if  no  word  came  from  him.  Within  a  few  days 
the  natives  began  again  to  show  the  spirit  of  resistance 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  301 

and  were  brought  to  courtesy  by  a  show  of  force.  Then 
another  difficulty  arose.  All  but  eight  of  the  crew 
joined  with  the  English  prisoners  in  seizing  the  officers, 
and  put  Lieutenant  Gamble,  the  commander,  with  four 
loyal  seamen,  adrift  in  a  small  boat,  while  the  mutineers 
went  to  sea  in  one  of  the  English  ships. 

The  five  men  reached  another  of  the  ships  in  the  bay, 
where  they  learned  that  Wilson  had  instigated  the 
mutiny.  The  worst  had  not  come,  for  very  soon  the  na- 
tives, perhaps  also  urged  on  by  the  Englishman,  mur- 
dered all  the  others  but  Gamble,  one  seaman,  one  mid- 
shipman, and  five  wounded  men.  Of  the  eight  survivors 
only  one  was  acquainted  with  the  management  of  a  ship, 
and  all  were  sufferings  from  wounds  or  disease.  With 
these  men  Lieutenant  Gamble  put  to  sea. 

After  incredible  hardship,  he  succeeded  in  reaching 
Hawaii,  only  to  be  captured  by  a  British  frigate  which 
a  few  weeks  earlier  had  assisted  in  the  capture  of  the 
Essex  and  Captain  Porter.  The  United  States  never 
ratified  Porter's  occupation  of  Nuka-hiva,  and  it  was 
left  for  the  French  thirty  years  later  to  seize  the  group. 

At  about  the  same  time  Herman  Melville,  an  Ameri- 
can sailor,  ventured  overland  into  Typee  Valley,  and 
was  captured  and  treated  as  a  royal  guest  by  the  Typee 
people.  He  lived  there  many  months,  and  heard  no 
whisper  of  the  havoc  wrought  by  his  countrymen  a  little 
time  before.  The  Typees  had  forgiven  and  forgotten 
it;  he  found  them  a  happy,  healthy,  beautiful  race,  liv- 
ing peacefully  and  comfortably  in  their  communistic 
society,  coveting  nothing  from  each  other  as  there  was 
plenty  for  all,  eager  to  do  honor  to  a  strange  guest  who, 
they  hoped,  would  teach  them  many  useful  things. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  visit  to  Typee;  story  of  the  old  man  who  returned  too  late. 

I  SAID,  of  course,  that  I  must  visit  Typee,  the  scene 
of  Porter's  bloody  raid  and  Herman  Melville's  ex- 
ploits, and  while  I  was  making  arrangements  to  get 
a  horse  in  Tai-o-hae  I  met  Haus  Ramqe,  supercargo  of 
the  schooner  Moana,  who  related  a  story  concerning  the 
valley. 

"I  was  working  in  the  store  of  the  Societe  Comerciale 
de  1'Ocean  in  Tai-o-hae  when  the  Tropic  Bird,  a  San 
Francisco  mail-schooner,  arrived.  That  was  ten  years 
ago.  An  old  man,  an  American,  came  into  our  place 
and  asked  the  way  to  Typee. 

"  'Ah,'  I  said,  'you  have  been  reading  that  book  by 
Melville.'  He  made  no  reply,  but  asked  me  to  escort 
him  to  the  valley.  We  set  out  on  horseback,  and  though 
he  had  not  said  that  he  had  ever  been  in  these  islands 
before,  I  saw  that  he  was  strangely  interested  in  the 
scenes  we  passed.  He  was  rather  feeble  with  age,  and 
he  grew  so  excited  as  we  neared  the  valley  that  I  asked 
him  what  he  expected  to  see  there. 

"He  stopped  his  horse,  and  hesitated  in  his  reply. 
He  was  terribly  agitated. 

"  'I  lived  in  Typee  once  upon  a  time,'  he  said  slowly. 
'Could  there  by  chance  be  a  woman  living  there  named 
Manu?  That  was  a  long  time  ago,  and  I  was  young. 
Still,  I  am  here,  and  she  may  be,  too.' 

"I  looked  at  him  and  could  not  tell  him  the  truth, 

302 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  303 

It  was  evident  he  had  made  no  confidant  of  the  captain 
or  crew  of  the  Tropic  Bird,  for  they  could  have  told  him 
of  the  desolation  in  Typee.  I  hated,  though,  to  have 
him  plump  right  into  the  facts. 

"  'How  many  people  were  there  in  your  day?'  I  asked 
him.  He  replied  that  there  were  many  thousands. 

"  'I  lived  there  three  years,'  he  said.  'I  had  a  sweet- 
heart named  Manu,  and  I  married  her  in  the  Marquesan 
way.  I  was  a  runaway  sailor,  and  one  night  on  the 
beach  I  was  captured  and  taken  away  on  a  ship.  I  have 
been  captain  of  a  great  American  liner  for  years,  al- 
ways meaning  to  come  back,  and  putting  it  off  from 
year  to  year.  All  my  people  are  dead,  and  I  thought 
I  would  come  now  and  perhaps  find  her  here  and  end  my 
days.  I  have  plenty  of  money.' 

"He  seemed  childish  to  me — perhaps  he  really  had 
lost  mental  poise  by  age.  I  had  n't  the  courage  to  tell 
him  the  truth.  We  came  on  it  soon  enough.  You 
must  see  Typee  to  realize  what  people  mean  to  a 
place. 

"The  nonos  were  simply  hell,  but  as  I  had  lived  a  good 
many  years  in  Tai-o-hae  I  was  hardened  to  them.  The 
old  man  slapped  at  them  occasionally,  but  made  no  com- 
plaint. He  hardly  seemed  to  feel  them,  or  to  realize 
what  their  numbers  meant.  It  was  when  we  pushed  up 
the  trail  through  the  valley,  and  he  saw  only  deserted 
paepaes,  that  he  began  to  look  frightened. 

"  'Are  they  all  gone?'  he  inquired  weakly. 

"  'No,'  I  said,  'there  are  fifteen  or  twenty  here.'  We 
came  to  a  clearing  and  there  found  the  remnant  of  the 
Typees.  I  questioned  them,  but  none  had  ever  heard  of 
him.  There  had  been  many  Manus, — the  word  means 


804  WHITE  SHADOWS 

bird, — but  as  they  were  the  last  of  the  tribe,  she  must 
have  been  dead  before  they  were  born,  and  they  no 
longer  kept  in  their  memories  the  names  of  the  dead, 
since  there  were  so  many,  and  all  would  be  dead  soon. 

"The  American  still  understood  enough  Marquesan 
to  understand  their  answers,  and  taking  me  by  the  arm 
he  left  the  horses  and  led  me  up  the  valley  till  he  came 
to  a  spot  where  there  were  fragments  of  an  old  paepae, 
buried  in  vines  and  torn  apart  by  their  roots. 

'  'We  Lived  here,'  he  said,  and  then  he  sat  on  the  for- 
saken stones  and  cried.  He  said  that  they  had  had  two 
children,  and  he  had  been  sure  that  at  least  he  would  find 
them  alive.  His  misery  made  me  feel  bad,  and  the 
damned  nonos,  too,  and  I  cried — I  don't  know  how 
damn  sentimental  it  was,  but  that  was  the  way  it  af- 
fected me.  The  old  chap  seemed  so  alone  in  the 
world. 

'"It  is  three  miles  from  here  to  the  beach/  he  said, 
'and  I  have  seen  men  coming  with  their  presents  for  the 
chief,  walking  a  yard  apart,  and  yet  the  line  stretched 
all  the  way  to  the  beach.' 

"He  could  hardly  ride  back  to  Tai-o-hae,  and  he  de- 
parted with  the  Tropic  Bird  without  saying  another 
word  to  any  one." 

Typee,  they  told  me,  was  half  way  to  Atiheu  and  a 
good  four  miles  by  horse.  The  road  had  been  good 
when  the  people  were  many,  and  was  still  the  main  road 
of  the  island,  leading  through  the  Valley  of  Hapaa. 
My  steed  was  borrowed  of  T'yonny  Howard,  who, 
though  he  owned  a  valley,  poured  cement  for  day's 
wages. 

"What  I  do?"  he  asked,  as  if  I  held  the  answer. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  305 

"Nobody  to  help  me  work  there.  I  cannot  make  copra 
alone.  Even  here  they  bring  men  from  other  place  do 
work.  Marquesan  die  too  fast." 

If  T'yonny  revered  his  father's  countrymen,  his  horse 
did  not.  These  island  horses  are  unhappy-looking 
skates,  though  good  climbers  and  sliders. 

"You  don't  need  person  go  with  you,"  said  the  son  of 
the  former  living  picture.  "That  horsey  know.  You 
stay  by  him." 

The  saddle  must  have  been  strange  to  the  horsey,  for 
uneasiness  communicated  itself  from  him  to  me  as  we  set 
out,  an  uneasiness  augmented  to  me  by  the  incessant 
vicious  pricks  of  the  ever-present  nonos. 

The  way  led  ever  higher  above  the  emerald  bay  of  Tai- 
o-hae  set  in  the  jade  of  the  forest,  and  valley  after  valley 
opened  below  as  the  trail  edged  upward  on  the  face  of 
sheer  cliffs  or  crossed  the  little  plateaus  of  their  sum- 
mits. Hapaa  lay  bathed  in  a  purple  mist  that  hid  from 
me  the  mute  tokens  of  depopulation;  Hapaa  that  had 
given  Porter  its  thousands  of  naked  warriors,  and  that 
now  was  devoid  of  human  beings. 

Dipping  slightly  downward  again,  the  trail  lay  on 
the  rim  of  a  deep  declivity,  a  sunless  gulf  in  which  the 
tree-tops  fell  away  in  rank  below  rank  into  dim  depths 
of  mistiness.  There  was  no  sign  of  human  passing  on 
the  vine-grown  trail,  a  vague  track  through  a  melan- 
choly wilderness  that  seemed  to  breathe  death  and  de- 
cay. A  spirit  of  gloom  seemed  to  rise  from  the 
shadowed  declivity,  from  the  silence  of  the  mournful 
wood  and  the  damp  darkness  of  the  leaf-hidden  earth. 

I  had  given  myself  over  to  musing  upon  the  past,  but 
suddenly  in  the  narrowest  part  of  the  trail  the  beast  I 


306  WHITE  SHADOWS 

rode  turned  and  took  my  canvas-covered  toes  in  his  yel- 
low teeth.  A  vague  momentary  flash  of  horror  came 
over  me.  Did  I  bestride  a  metempsychosized  man- 
eater,  a  revenant  from  the  bloody  days  of  Nuka-hiva? 
In  those  wicked  eyes  I  saw  reflected  the  tales  of  trans- 
migatory  vengeance,  from  the  wolf  of  Little  Red  Rid- 
ing Hood  to  the  ass  that  one  becomes  who  kills  a  Brah- 
man. I  gave  vent  at  the  same  second  to  a  shriek  of 
anguish  and  struck  the  animal  upon  the  nose,  the  tender- 
est  part  of  his  anatomy  within  reach.  He  released  my 
foot,  whirled,  cavorted,  and,  as  I  seized  a  tree  fern  on 
the  bank,  went  heels  over  head  over  the  cliff. 

T'yonny  had  said  to  "stay  by  horsey,"  but  he  could 
not  have  foreseen  the  road  he  would  take.  I  was  sorry 
for  him  as  I  heard  the  reverberations  of  his  crashing  fall. 
No  living  thing  could  escape  death  in  such  a  drop,  for 
though  the  cliff  down  which  he  had  disappeared  was  not 
absolutely  perpendicular,  it  was  nearly  so.  Peering 
over  it,  I  could  not  see  his  corpse,  for  fern  and  tree-top 
hid  all  below.  At  least,  I  thought,  he  had  surcease  of 
all  ills  now.  And  so  I  descended  the  steep  trail  on  foot 
— mostly  on  one  foot — until  I  reached  the  vale  of  Typee. 

I  found  myself  in  a  loneliness  indescribable  and  ter- 
rible. No  sound  but  that  of  a  waterfall  at  a  distance 
parted  the  somber  silence.  The  trail  was  through  a 
thicket  of  ferns,  trees,  and  wild  flowers.  The  perfume 
of  Hinano,  of  the  vaovao,  with  its  delicate  blue  flowers, 
and  the  vaipuhao,  whose  leaves  are  scented  like  violets, 
filled  the  heavy  air,  and  I  passed  acres  of  kokou,  which 
looks  like  tobacco,  but  has  a  yellow  fruit  of  delicious 
odor.  It  was  such  a  garden  as  the  prince  who  woke  the 
Sleeping  Beauty  penetrated  to  reach  the  palace  where 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  307 

she  lay  entranced,  and  something  of  the  same  sense  of 
dread  magic  lay  upon  it.  Humanity  was  not  so  much 
absent  as  gone,  and  a  feeling  of  doom  and  death  was  in 
the  motionless  air,  which  lay  like  a  weight  upon  leaf 
and  flower. 

The  thin,  sharp  buzzing  of  the  nonos  was  incessant. 
They  had  come  when  man  departed;  there  were  none 
when  Porter  devastated  the  valley,  nor  when  Melville 
spent  his  happy  months  here  thirty  years  later.  One 
must  move  briskly  to  escape  them  now,  and  I  was  push- 
ing through  the  bushes  that  strove  to  obliterate  the  trail 
when  I  came  upon  a  native. 

He  was  so  old  that  he  must  have  been  a  youth  in  the 
valley  when  it  was  visited  by  the  American-liner  cap- 
tain as  a  boy.  He  was  quite  nude  save  for  a  ragged 
cincture,  and  his  body  had  shrunk  and  puckered,  and  his 
skin  had  folded  and  discolored  until  he  looked  as  if  life 
had  ebbed  away  from  him  and  left  him  high  and  dry  be- 
tween the  past  and  the  hereafter.  A  ragged  chin  beard, 
ashen  in  hue,  hung  below  his  gaping,  empty  mouth. 
But  there  was  a  spirit  in  his  bosom  still,  for  upon  his 
head  he  wore  a  circle  of  bright  flowers  to  supplement  the 
sparse  locks. 

His  eyes  were  barely  openable,  and  his  face,  indeed, 
his  whole  body,  was  a  coppery  green,  the  soot  of  the 
candlenut,  black  itself,  but  blue  upon  the  flesh,  having 
turned  by  age  to  a  mottled  and  hideous  color.  Only  the 
striking  patterns,  where  they  branched  from  the  biceps 
to  the  chest,  were  plain. 

That  he  had  been  one  of  the  great  of  Nuka-hiva 
was  certain;  the  fact  was  stamped  indelibly  upon  his 
person,  and  though  worn  and  faded  to  the  ghastly 


308  WHITE  SHADOWS 

green  of  old  copper,  it  remained  to  proclaim  his  lineage 
and  his  rank. 

"Kaoha  te  iki!"  said  this  ancient,  as  he  stood  in  the 
path. 

"Kaoha  el"  I  saluted  him. 

"Puaka  piki  enata"  he  said  further,  and  pointed  down 
the  trail. 

"What  could  he  mean?  Puaka  is  pig,  piki  is  to 
mount  or  climb,  and  enata  is  man.  A  great  white  light 
beat  about  my  brow.  "The  pig  men  climb?"  Could 
he  mean  Rozinante,  the  steed  to  whom  T'yonny  had  en- 
trusted me,  and  who  had  so  basely  deserted  his  trust  over 
a  cliff? 

I  hurried  on  incredulous,  and,  in  a  clearing  where 
there  were  three  or  four  horses,  beheld  the  suicide  graz- 
ing upon  the  luscious  grass.  He  had  lost  much  cuticle, 
and  the  saddle  was  in  shreds,  but  the  puaka  piki  enata 
was  evidently  in  fairly  good  health. 

The  old  man  had  slowly  followed  me  down  the  trail, 
and  he  stood  within  the  doorway  of  a  rude  hut,  blinking 
in  the  sun  as  he  watched  my  movements.  In  the  houses 
were  altogether  fewer  than  a  dozen  people.  They  sat 
by  cocoanut-husk  fires,  the  acrid  smoke  of  which  daunted 
the  nonos. 

The  reason  any  human  beings  endure  such  tortures  to 
remain  in  this  gloomy,  deserted  spot  can  only  be  the  af- 
fection the  Marquesan  has  for  his  home.  Not  until  epi- 
demics have  carried  off  all  but  one  or  two  inhabitants 
in  a  valley  can  those  remaining  be  persuaded  to  leave 
it. 

This  dozen  of  the  Taipi  clan  are  the  remainder  of  the 
twenty  Ramqe  saw  with  the  heartbroken  American. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  309 

They  have  clung  to  their  lonely  paepaes  despite  their 
poverty  of  numbers  and  the  ferocity  of  the  nonos. 
They  had  clearings  with  cocoanuts  and  breadfruit,  but 
they  cared  no  longer  to  cultivate  them,  preferring  rather 
to  sit  sadly  in  the  curling  fumes  and  dream  of  the  past. 
One  old  man  read  aloud  the  "Gospel  of  St.  John"  in 
Marquesan,  and  the  others  listlessly  listened,  seeming 
to  drink  in  little  comfort  from  the  verses,  which  he  re- 
cited in  the  chanting  monotone  of  their  uta. 

Nine  miles  in  length  is  Typee,  from  a  glorious  cata- 
ract that  leaps  over  the  dark  buttress  wall  where  the 
mountain  bounds  the  valley,  to  the  blazing  beach.  And 
in  all  this  extent  of  marvelously  rich  land,  the  one-time 
fondly  cherished  abode  of  the  most  valiant  clan  of  the 
Marquesas,  of  thousands  of  men  and  women  whose 
bodies  were  as  beautiful  as  the  models  for  the  statues  the 
Greeks  made,  whose  hearts  were  generous,  and  whose 
minds  were  eager  to  learn  all  good  things,  there  are  now 
this  wretched  dozen  too  old  or  listless  to  gather  their 
own  food.  In  the.  ruins  of  a  broken  and  abandoned 
paepae,  in  the  shadow  of  an  acre-covering  banian,  I 
smoked  and  asked  myself  what  a  Christ  would  think  of 
the  havoc  wrought  by  men  calling  themselves  Christians. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Journey  on  the  Roberta;  the  winged  cockroaches;  arrival  at  a  Swiss  para- 
dise in  the  valley  of  Oomoa. 

I  SAILED  from  Tai-o-hae  for  an  unknown  port, 
carried  by  the  schooner  Roberta,  which  had  brought 
the  white  mare  from  Atuona  and  whose  skipper 
had  bore  so  well  the  white  banner  of  Joan  in  the  proces- 
sion that  did  her  honor.  The  Roberta  was  the  only 
vessel  in  those  waters  and,  sailing  as  she  did  at  the  whim 
of  her  captain  and  the  necessities  of  trade,  none  knew 
when  she  might  return  to  Nuka-hiva,  so  I  could  but  ac- 
cept the  opportunity  she  offered  of  reaching  the  south- 
ern group  of  islands  again,  and  trust  to  fortune  or 
favor  to  return  me  to  my  own  island  of  Hiva-oa. 

The  Roberta  lay  low  in  the  water,  not  so  heavily 
sparred  as  the  Morning  Star,  or  with  her  under-cut 
stern,  but  old  and  battered,  built  for  the  business  of  a 
thief -catcher,  and  with  a  history  as  scarred  as  her  hull 
and  as  slippery  as  her  decks.  Was  she  not  once  the 
Herman,  and  before  that  something  else,  and  yet  earlier 
something  else,  built  for  the  Russians  to  capture  the  art- 
ful poachers  of  the  Smoky  Sea?  And  later  a  poacher 
herself,  and  still  later  stealing  men,  a  black-birder,  seiz- 
ing the  unoffending  natives  of  these  South  Seas  and  sell- 
ing them  into  slavery  of  mine  or  plantation,  of  guano- 
heap  and  sickening  alien  clime.  Her  decks  have  run 
blood,  and  heard  the  wailing  of  the  gentle  savage  torn 
from  his  beloved  home  and  lashed  or  clubbed  into  sub- 

310 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  311 

mission  by  the  superior  white.  Name  and  color  and  rig 
had  changed  time  and  again,  owners  and  masters  had 
gone  to  Davy  Jones's  locker;  the  old  brass  cannon  on 
her  deck  had  raked  the  villages  of  the  Marquesans  and 
witnessed  a  thousand  deeds  of  murder  and  rapine. 

I  pulled  myself  aboard  by  a  topping-lift,  climbed 
upon  the  low  cabin-house,  and  jumped  down  to  the  tiny 
poop  where  Jerome  Capriata  held  the  helm. 

This  Corsican,  with  his  more  than  sixty  years,  most 
of  them  in  these  waters,  was  a  Marquesan  in  his  in- 
tuitive skill  in  handling  his  schooner  in  all  weather,  for 
knowing  these  islands  by  a  glimpse  of  rock  or  tree,  for 
landing  and  taking  cargo  in  all  seas.  Old  and  worn, 
like  the  Roberta,  he  was  known  to  all  who  ranged  the 
southern  ocean.  What  romances  he  had  lived  and  seen 
were  hidden  in  his  grizzled  bosom,  for  he  said  little,  and 
nothing  of  himself. 

The  super-cargo,  Henry  Lee,  a  Norwegian  of  twenty- 
five  years,  six  of  which  he  had  passed  among  the  islands, 
set  out  the  rum  and  wine  and  a  clay  bottle  of  water. 
He  introduced  me  to  Pere  Olivier,  a  priest  of  the  mis- 
sion, whose  charge  was  in  the  island  of  Fatu-hiva. 
From  him  I  learned  that  the  Roberta  was  bound  for 
Oomoa,  a  port  of  that  Island. 

That  I  had  not  been  given  the  vaguest  idea  what  our 
first  landfall  would  be  was  indicative  of  the  secrecy 
maintained  by  these  traders  in  the  competition  for  copra. 
The  supply  being  limited,  often  it  is  the  first  vessel  on 
the  spot  after  a  harvest  that  is  able  to  buy  it,  and  cap- 
tains of  schooners  guard  their  movements  as  an  army 
its  own  during  a  campaign.  The  traders  trust  one  an- 
other as  a  cat  with  a  mouse  trusts  another  cat. 


312  WHITE  SHADOWS 

The  priest  was  sitting  on  a  ledge  below  the  taffrail, 
and  I  spoke  to  him  in  Spanish,  as  I  had  heard  it  was 
his  tongue.  His  buenos  dias  in  reply  was  hearty,  and 
his  voice  soft  and  rich.  A  handsome  man  was  Padre 
Olivier,  though  in  sad  disorder.  His  black  soutane,  cut 
like  the  woolen  gown  of  our  grandmothers,  was  soaking 
wet,  and  his  low  rough  shoes  were  muddy.  A  soiled 
bandana  was  about  his  head.  His  finely  chiseled  fea- 
tures, benign  and  intelligent,  were  framed  by  a  snow- 
white  beard,  and  his  eyes,  large  and  limpid,  looked 
benevolence  itself.  He  was  all  affability,  and  eager 
to  talk  about  everything  in  the  world. 

The  rain,  which  all  day  had  been  falling  at  intervals, 
began  again,  and  as  the  Roberta  entered  the  open  sea, 
she  began  to  kick  up  her  heels.  Our  conversation  lan- 
guished. When  the  supercargo  called  us  below  for  din- 
ner, pride  and  not  appetite  made  me  go.  The  priest 
answered  with  a  groan.  Padre  Olivier  was  prostrate 
on  the  deck,  his  noble  head  on  a  pillow,  his  one  piece 
of  luggage,  embroidered  with  the  monogram  of  Jesus, 
Mary,  and  Joseph,  the  needlework  of  the  nuns  of 
Atuona. 

"I  am  seasick  if  I  wade  in  the  surf,"  said  the  priest, 
in  mournful  jest. 

The  Roberta's  cabin  was  a  dark  and  noisome  hole, 
filled  with  demijohns  and  merchandise,  with  two  or  three 
untidy  bunks  in  corners,  the  air  soaked  with  the  smells 
of  thirty  years  of  bilge-water,  sealskins,  copra,  and  the 
cargoes  of  island  traffic.  Capriata,  Harry  Lee,  and  I 
sat  on  boxes  at  a  rough  table,  which  we  clutched  as  the 
Roberta  pitched  and  rolled. 

When  the  ragged  cook  brought  the  first  dish,  un- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  3ia 

mistakably  a  cat  swimming  in  a  liquid  I  could  have 
sworn  by  my  nose  to  be  drippings  from  an  ammonia  tank, 
I  protested  a  lack  of  hunger  for  any  food.  My  ruse 
passed  for  the  moment,  but  was  exposed  by  a  flock  or 
swarm  of  cockroaches,  which,  scenting  a  favorite  food, 
suddenly  sprang  upon  the  table  and  upon  us,  leaping 
and  flying  into  the  plates  and  drawing  Corsican  curses 
from  Capriata  and  Norwegian  maledictions  from  Lee. 
I  did  not  wait  to  see  them  throwing  the  invaders  from 
the  battlements  of  the  table  into  the  moat  of  salt  water 
and  spilt  wine  below,  but  quickly,  though  feebly,  climbed 
to  the  deck  and  laid  myself  beside  Pere  Olivier,  nor 
could  cries  that  the  enemy  had  been  defeated  and  that 
"only  a  few"  were  flying  about,  summon  me  below 
again. 

Pere  Olivier  and  I  stayed  prone  all  night  in  alternate 
pelting  rain  and  flooding  moonlight,  as  a  fair  wind 
bowled  us  along  at  six  knots  an  hour.  Padre  Olivier, 
between  naps,  recited  his  rosary  to  take  his  mind  from 
his  woes.  I  could  tell  when  he  finished  a  decade  by  his 
involuntary  start  as  he  began  a  new  one.  I  had  no 
such  comfort  as  beads  and  prayers,  and  the  flight  of 
those  schooner  griffins  had  struck  me  in  the  solar  plexus 
of  imagination. 

"Accept  them  as  stations  of  the  cross,"  said  the  priest. 
"This  life  is  but  a  step  to  heaven." 

I  replied  with  some  comments  indicating  my  belief 
that  cockroaches  belonged  on  a  still  lower  rung,  and 
going  in  an  opposite  direction. 

"I  know  those  blattes,  those  saligauds"  he  said  with 
sympathy.  "They  are  sent  by  Satan  to  provoke  us  to 
blasphemy.  I  never  go  below." 


314  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Those  pests  of  insects  can  hardly  be  estimated  at  their 
true  dreadfulness  by  persons  unacquainted  with  the  in- 
famous habits  of  the  nocturnal  beetle  of  the  tropics. 
Sluggish  creatures  in  the  temperate  zone,  in  warm  coun- 
tries they  develop  the  power  of  flying,  and  obstacles 
successfully  interposed  to  their  progress  in  countries 
where  they  merely  crawl  are  ineffectual  here.  They 
had  entire  possession  of  the  Roberta. 

The  supercargo,  Lee,  was  not  to  be  blamed,  for  he 
told  me  that  once  he  had  taken  time  in  port  to  capture 
by  poisonous  lures  a  number  he  calculated  at  eight 
thousand,  and  that  within  a  month  those  who  had  es- 
caped had  repopulated  the  old  schooner  as  before. 
Then  he  despaired,  and  let  them  have  sway.  To  sleep 
or  eat  among  them  was  not  possible  to  me,  and  the 
voyage  was  a  nightmare  not  relieved  by  an  incident  of 
the  second  night. 

Capriata,  whose  feet  were  calloused  from  going  bare 
for  years,  awoke  from  a  deep  slumber  that  had  been 
aided  by  rum,  to  find  that  the  cockroaches  in  his  berth 
had  eaten  through  the  half  inch  or  more  of  hard  skin 
and  had  begun  to  devour  his  flesh.  With  blasphemous 
and  blood-chilling  yells  he  bounded  on  deck,  where  he 
sat  treating  the  wounds  and  cursing  unrestrainedly  for 
some  time  before  joining  Pere  Olivier  and  me  in  demo- 
cratic slumber  on  the  bare  boards.  Several  weeks 
later  his  feet  had  not  recovered  from  their  envenomed 
sores. 

When  eight  bells  sounded  the  hour  of  four,  I  got 
upon  my  feet  and  in  the  mellow  dawn  saw  a  panorama 
of  peak  and  precipice,  dark  and  threatening,  the  coast 
of  Fatu-hiva  and  the  entrance  to  Oomoa  Bay,  the  south- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  315 

ernmost  island  of  the  Marquesas,  and  the  harbor  in 
which  the  first  white  men  who  saw  the  islands  anchored 
over  three  hundred  years  ago. 

Those  Spaniards,  on  whose  ships  the  cross  was  seen 
in  cabin  and  forecastle,  on  gun  and  halberd,  murdered 
many  Marquesans  at  Oomoa  to  glut  their  taste  for 
blood.  The  standard  of  death  the  white  flew  then  has 
never  been  lowered.  Oomoa  and  Hanavave,  the  adja- 
cent bay  and  village,  were  resorts  for  whalers,  who 
brought  a  plague  of  ills  that  reduced  the  population  of 
Fatu-hiva  from  many  thousands  to  less  than  three  hun- 
dred. Consumption  was  first  brought  to  the  islands  by 
one  of  these  whalers,  and  made  such  alarming  inroads 
on  the  people  of  Hanavave  that  most  of  the  remainder 
forsook  their  homes  and  crossed  to  the  island  of  Tahuata, 
to  escape  the  devil  the  white  man  had  let  loose  among 
them. 

We  sailed  on  very  slowly  after  the  mountains  had 
robbed  us  of  the  breeze,  and  when  daylight  succeeded 
the  false  dawn,  we  dropped  our  mud  hooks  a  thousand 
feet  from  the  beach.  On  it  we  could  see  a  little  wooden 
church  and  two  dwellings,  dwarfed  to  miniature  by  the 
grim  pinnacles  of  rock,  crude  replicas  of  the  towers  of 
the  Alhambra,  slender  minarets  beside  the  giant  cliffs, 
which  were  clothed  with  creeping  plants  in  places  and 
in  places  bare  as  the  sides  of  a  living  volcano. 

The  fantastic  and  majestic  assemblage  of  rock  shapes 
on  the  shores  of  Fatu-hiva  appeared  as  if  some  Her- 
culean sculptor  with  disordered  brain  and  mighty  hand 
had  labored  to  reproduce  the  fearful  chimeras  of  his 
dreams. 

The  priest  and  I,  with  the  supercargo,  went  ashore 


316  WHITE  SHADOWS 

in  a  boat  at  six  o'clock,  and  reached  a  beach  as  smooth 
and  inviting  as  that  of  Atuona.  A  canoe  was  waiting 
for  Pere  Olivier;  he  climbed  into  it  at  once,  his  black 
wet  robe  clinging  to  him,  and  called  "Adios!"  as  his 
men  paddled  rapidly  for  Hanavave,  where  he  was  to 
say  mass  and  hear  confessions. 

Lee  and  I  took  a  road  lined  with  a  wall  of  rocks, 
and  passing  many  sorts  of  trees  and  plants  entered  an 
enclosure  through  a  gate. 

After  a  considerable  walk  through  a  thrifty  planta- 
tion, we  were  in  front  of  a  European  house  which 
gave  signs  of  comfort  and  taste.  At  the  head  of  a 
flight  of  stairs  on  the  broad  veranda  was  a  man  in  gold- 
rimmed  eye-glasses  and  a  red  breechclout.  His  well- 
shaped,  bald  head  and  punctilious  manner  would  have 
commanded  attention  in  any  attire. 

I  was  introduced  to  Monsieur  Fra^ois  Grelet,  a 
Swiss,  who  had  lived  here  for  more  than  twenty  years, 
and  who  during  that  time  had  never  been  farther  away 
than  a  few  miles.  Not  even  Tahiti  had  drawn  him  to 
it.  Since  he  arrived,  at  the  age  of  twenty-four  years, 
he  had  dwelt  contentedly  in  Oomoa. 

After  we  had  chatted  for  a  few  moments  he  invited 
me  to  be  his  guest.  I  thought  of  the  Roberta  and  those 
two  kinds  of  cockroaches,  the  Blatta  orientalis  and  the 
Blatta  germanica,  who  raid  by  night  and  by  day  respec- 
tively; I  looked  at  Grelet's  surroundings,  and  I  ac- 
cepted. While  the  Roberta  gathered  what  copra  she 
could  and  flitted,  I  became  a  resident  of  Oomoa  until 
such  time  as  chance  should  give  me  passage  to  my  own 
island. 

Twenty  years  before  my  host  had  planted  the  trees 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  317 

that  embowered  his  home.  With  the  Swiss  farmer's 
love  of  order,  he  had  neglected  nothing  to  make  neat, 
as  nature  had  made  beautiful,  his  surroundings. 

"I  learned  agriculture  and  dairying  on  my  father's 
farm  in  Switzerland,"  said  Grelet.  "At  school  I 
learned  more  of  their  theory,  and  when  I  had  seen  the 
gay  cities  of  Europe,  I  went  to  the  new  world  to  live. 
I  was  first  at  Pecos  City,  New  Mexico,  where  I  had 
several  hundred  acres  of  government  land.  I  brought 
grape-vines  from  Fresno,  in  California,  but  the  water 
was  insufficient  for  the  sterile  soil,  and  I  was  forced 
to  give  up  my  land.  From  San  Francisco  I  sailed 
on  the  brig  Galilee  for  Tahiti.  I  have  never  finished 
the  journey,  for  when  the  brig  arrived  at  Tai-o-hae  I 
left  her  and  installed  myself  on  the  Eunice,  a  small 
trading-schooner,  and  for  a  year  I  remained  aboard  her, 
visiting  all  the  islands  of  the  Marquesas  and  becoming 
so  attached  to  them  that  I  bought  land  and  settled 
clown  here." 

Grelet  looked  about  him  and  smiled. 

"It  is  n't  bad,  hein?" 

It  was  not.  From  the  little  cove  where  his  boat- 
house  stood  a  road  swept  windingly  to  his  house  through 
a  garden  of  luxuriant  verdure.  Mango  and  limes, 
breadfruit  and  cocoanut,  pomme  de  Cythere,  orange  and 
papaws,  banana  and  alligator-pear,  candlenut  and 
chestnut,  mulberry  and  sandalwood,  ton,  the  bastard 
ebony,  and  rosewood,  the  rose-apple  with  purple  tas- 
seled  flowers  and  delicious  fruit,  the  pistachio  and  the 
badamier,  scores  of  shrubs  and  bushes  and  magnificent 
tree-ferns,  all  on  a  tangled  sward  of  white  spider-lilies, 
great,  sweet-smelling  plants,  an  acre  of  them,  and  with 


318  WHITE  SHADOWS 

them  other  ferns  of  many  kinds,  and  mosses,  the 
nodding  taro  leaves  and  the  ti,  the  leaves  which  the 
Fatu-hivans  make  into  girdles  and  wreaths;  all  grew 
luxuriantly,  friendly  neighbors  to  the  Swiss,  set  there 
by  him  or  volunteering  for  service  in  the  generous  way 
of  the  tropics. 

The  lilies,  oranges,  and  pandanus  trees  yielded  food 
for  the  bees,  whose  thatched  homes  stood  thick  on  the 
hillside  above  the  house.  Grelet  was  a  skilled  apiarist, 
and  replenished  his  melliferous  flocks  by  wild  swarms 
enticed  from  the  forests.  The  honey  he  strained  and 
bottled,  and  it  was  sought  of  him  by  messengers  from 
all  the  islands. 

Orchard  and  garden  beyond  the  house  gave  us 
Valencia  and  Mandarin  oranges,  lemons,  feis,  Guinea 
cherries,  pineapples,  Bardadoes  cherries,  sugar-cane, 
sweet-potatoes,  watermelons,  cantaloups,  Chile  peppers, 
and  pumpkins.  Watercress  came  fresh  from  the  river. 

Cows  and  goats  browsed  about  the  garden,  but  Grelet 
banned  pigs  to  a  secluded  valley  to  run  wild.  One  of 
the  cows  was  twenty-two  years  old,  but  daily  gave 
brimming  buckets  of  milk  for  our  refreshment.  Beef 
and  fish,  breadfruit  and  taro,  good  bread  from  Amer- 
ican flour,  rum,  and  wine  both  red  and  white,  with 
bowls  of  milk  and  green  cocoanuts,  were  always  on  the 
table,  a  box  of  cigars,  packages  of  the  veritable  Scafer- 
lati  Superieur  tobacco,  and  the  Job  papers,  and  a  dozen 
pipes.  No  king  could  fare  more  royally  than  this 
Swiss,  who  during  twenty  years  had  never  left  the  for- 
gotten little  island  of  Fatu-hiva. 

His  house,  set  in  this  bower  of  greenery,  of  flowers 
and  perfumes,  was  airy  and  neat,  whitewashed  both  in- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  319 

side  and  out,  with  a  broad  veranda  painted  black.  Two 
bedrooms,  a  storeroom  in  which  he  sold  his  merchandise, 
and  a  workroom,  sufficed  for  all  his  needs.  The  ve- 
randa was  living-room  and  dining-room ;  raised  ten  feet 
from  the  earth  on  breadfruit-tree  pillars  placed  on 
stone,  it  provided  a  roof  for  his  forge,  for  his  saddle- 
and-bridle  room,  and  for  the  small  kitchen. 

The  ceilings  in  the  house  were  of  wood,  but  on  the 
veranda  he  had  cleverly  hung  a  canvas  a  foot  below  the 
roof.  The  air  circulated  above  it,  bellying  it  out  like 
a  sail  and  making  the  atmosphere  cool.  Under  this 
was  his  dining-table,  near  a  very  handsome  buffet,  both 
made  by  Grelet  of  the  false  ebony,  for  he  was  a  good 
carpenter  as  he  was  a  crack  boatsman,  farmer,  cowboy, 
and  hunter.  Here  we  sat  over  pipe  and  cigarette  after 
dinner,  wine  at  our  elbows,  the  garden  before  us,  and 
discussed  many  things. 

Grelet  had  innumerable  books  in  French  and  Ger- 
man, all  the  great  authors  old  and  modern ;  he  took  the 
important  reviews  of  Germany  and  France,  and  several 
newspapers.  He  knew  much  more  than  I  of  history 
past  and  present,  of  the  happenings  in  the  great  world, 
art  and  music  and  invention,  finances  and  politics.  He 
could  name  the  cabinets  of  Europe,  the  characters  and 
records  of  their  members,  or  discuss  the  quality  of 
Caruso's  voice  as  compared  with  Jean  de  Reszke's, 
though  he  had  heard  neither.  Twenty-two  years  ago 
he  had  left  everything  called  civilization,  he  had  never 
been  out  of  the  Marquesas  since  that  time ;  he  lived  in  a 
lonely  valley  in  which  there  was  no  other  man  of  his 
tastes  and  education,  and  he  was  content. 

"I  have  everything  I  want;  I  grow  it  or  I  make  it. 


320  WHITE  SHADOWS 

My  horses  and  cattle  roam  the  hills;  if  I  want  meat, 
beef  or  goat  or  pig,  I  go  or  I  send  a  man  to  kill  an 
animal  and  bring  it  to  me.  Fish  are  in  the  river  and 
the  bay;  there  is  honey  in  the  hives;  fruit  and  vegetables 
in  the  garden,  wood  for  my  furniture,  bark  for  the 
tanning  of  hides.  I  cure  the  leather  for  saddles  or 
chair-seats  with  the  bark  of  the  rose-wood.  Do  you 
know  why  it  is  called  rose-wood?  I  will  show  you. 
Its  bark  has  the  odor  of  roses  when  freshly  cut.  Yes, 
I  have  all  that  I  want.  What  do  I  need  from  the 
great  cities?" 

He  tamped  down  the  tobacco  in  his  pipe  and  puffed 
it  meditatively. 

"A  man  lives  only  a  little  while,  hein?  He  should 
ask  himself  what  he  wants  from  life.  He  should  look 
at  the  world  as  it  is.  These  traders  want  money,  buy- 
ing and  selling  and  cheating  to  get  it.  What  is  money 
compared  to  life?  Their  life  goes  in  buying  and  sell- 
ing and  cheating.  Life  is  made  to  be  lived  pleasantly. 
Me,  I  do  what  I  want  to  do  with  mine,  and  I  do  it 
in  a  pleasant  place." 

His  pipe  went  out  while  he  gazed  at  the  garden  mur- 
murous in  the  twilight.  He  knocked  out  the  dottle, 
refilled  the  bowl  and  lighted  the  tobacco. 

"You  should  have  seen  this  island  when  I  came. 
These  natives  die  too  fast.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  get 
labor,  I  could  make  this  valley  produce  enough  for  ten 
thousand  people.  I  could  load  the  ships  with  copra  and 
cotton  and  coffee." 

He  was  twenty-two  years  and  many  thousands  of 
miles  from  the  great  cities  of  Europe,  but  he  voiced  the 
wail  of  the  successful  man  the  world  over.  If  he  could 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  321 

get  labor,  he  could  turn  it  into  building  his  dreams  to 
reality,  into  filling  his  ships  with  his  goods  for  his  profit. 
But  he  had  not  the  labor,  for  the  fruits  of  a  commercial 
civilization  had  killed  the  islanders  who  had  had  their 
own  dreams,  their  own  ships,  and  their  own  pleasures 
and  profits  in  life. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Labor  in  the  South  Seas;  some  random  thoughts  on  the  "survival  of  the 
fittest." 

I   PICTURED  myself  cultivating  many  hundreds 
of  acres  when  I  first  came  here,"  said  Grelet.     "I 
laid  out  several  plantations,  and  once  shipped  much 
coffee,  as  good,  too,  as  any  in  the  world.     I  gather 
enough  now  for  my  own  use,  and  sell  none.     I  grew 
cotton  and  cocoanuts  on  a  large  scale.     I  raise  only  a 
little  now. 

"There  were  hundreds  of  able-bodied  men  here  then. 
I  used  to  buy  opium  from  the  Chinese  labor-contractors 
and  from  smugglers,  and  give  it  to  my  working  people. 
A  pill  once  a  day  would  make  the  Marquesans  hustle. 
But  the  government  stopped  it.  They  say  that  the 
book  written  by  the  Englishman,  Stevenson,  did  it. 
We  must  find  labor  elsewhere  soon,  Chinese,  perhaps. 
Those  two  Paumotans  brought  by  Begole  are  a  god- 
send to  me.  I  wish  some  one  would  bring  me  a  hun- 
dred." 

The  two  Paumotan  youths,  Tennonoku  and  Kedeko- 
lio,  lay  motionless  on  the  floor  of  the  veranda  twenty 
feet  away.  They  had  been  sold  to  Grelet  for  a  small 
sum  by  Begole,  captain  of  a  trading-schooner.  In 
passing  the  Paumotan  Islands,  many  hundred  miles  to 
the  south,  Begole  had  forgotten  to  leave  at  Pukatuhu, 
a  small  atoll,  a  few  bags  of  flour  he  had  promised  to 
bring  the  chief  on  his  next  voyage,  and  the  chief,  seeing 

322 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  323 

the  schooner  a  mile  away,  had  ordered  these  boys  to 
swim  to  it  and  remind  the  skipper  of  his  promise. 
Begole  meanwhile  had  caught  a  wind,  and  the  first  he 
knew  of  the  message  was  when  the  boys  climbed  aboard 
the  schooner  many  miles  to  sea.  He  did  not  trouble 
to  land  them,  but  brought  them  on  to  the  Marquesas 
and  sold  them  to  Grelet. 

They  spoke  no  Marquesan,  and  Grelet  had  difficulty 
in  making  them  understand  that  they  must  labor  for 
him,  and  in  enforcing  his  orders,  which  they  could  not 
comprehend.  There  was  little  copra  being  made  in 
the  rainy  weather,  and  they  lay  about  the  veranda  or 
squatted  on  the  paepae  of  the  laborers'  cookhouse,  mak- 
ing a  fire  of  cocoanut-husks  twice  a  day  to  roast  their 
breadfruit.  Their  savage  hearts  were  ever  in  their  own 
atoll,  the  home  to  which  the  native  clings  so  passion- 
ately, and  their  eyes  were  dark  with  hopeless  longing. 
No  doubt  they  would  die  soon,  as  so  many  do  when 
exiled,  but  Grelet's  copra  crop  would  profit  first. 

The  dire  lack  of  labor  for  copra-making,  tree-plant- 
ing, or  any  form  of  profitable  activity  is  lamented  by 
all  white  men  in  these  depopulated  islands.  Average 
wages  were  sixty  cents  a  day,  but  even  a  dollar  failed 
to  bring  adequate  relief.  The  Marquesan  detests  la- 
bor, which  to  him  has  ever  been  an  unprofitable  ex- 
penditure of  life  and  did  not  gain  in  his  eyes  even  when 
his  toil  might  enrich  white  owners  of  plantations.  Since 
every  man  had  a  piece  of  land  that  yielded  copra 
enough  for  his  simple  needs,  and  breadfruit  and  fish 
were  his  for  the  taking,  he  could  not  be  forced  to  work 
except  for  the  government  in  payment  for  taxes. 

The  white  men   in   the   islands,   like  exploiters  of 


324  WHITE  SHADOWS 

weaker  races  everywhere  in  the  world,  were  unwilling 
to  share  their  profits  with  the  native.  They  were  re- 
duced to  pleading  with  or  intoxicating  the  Marquesan 
to  procure  a  modicum  of  labor.  They  saw  fortunes 
to  be  made  if  they  could  but  whip  a  multitude  of  backs 
to  bending  for  them,  but  they  either  could  not  or  would 
not  perceive  the  situation  from  the  native's  point  of 
view. 

In  America  I  often  heard  men  who  were  out  of  em- 
ployment, particularly  in  bad  seasons,  in  big  cities  or  in 
mining  camps,  argue  the  right  to  work.  They  could 
not  enforce  this  alleged  natural  right,  and  in  their 
misery  talked  of  the  duty  of  society  or  the  state  in  this 
direction.  But  they  were  obliged  to  content  themselves 
with  the  thin  alleviation  of  soup-kitchens,  charity  wood- 
yards,  and  other  easers  of  hard  times,  and  with  threats 
of  sabotage  or  other  violence. 

Here  in  the  islands,  where  work  is  offered  to  unwill- 
ing natives,  the  employers  curse  their  lack  of  power  te 
drive  them  to  the  copra  forests,  the  kilns  and  boats. 
Thus,  as  in  highly  civilized  countries  we  maintain  that 
a  man  has  no  inherent  or  legal  right  to  work,  in  these 
islands  the  employer  has  no  weapon  by  which  to  en- 
force toil.  But  had  the  whites  the  power  to  order  all 
to  do  their  bidding,  they  would  create  a  system  of 
peonage  as  in  Mexico. 

An  acquaintance  of  mine  in  these  seas  took  part  in, 
and  profited  largely  by,  the  removal  to  a  distant  place 
of  the  entire  population  of  an  island  on  which  the  people 
had  led  the  usual  life  of  the  Polynesian.  He  and  his 
associates  sold  three  hundred  men  to  plantation  labor, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  825 

which  they  hated  and  to  which  they  were  unaccustomed. 
Within  a  year  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  them  had  died 
as  fast  as  disease  could  sap  their  grief -stricken  bodies. 
Their  former  home,  which  they  died  longing  to  see 
again,  was  made  a  feeding-place  for  sheep.  The  mer- 
chants reaped  a  double  toll.  They  were  paid  well  for 
delivering  the  owners  of  the  land  to  the  plantations, 
and  in  addition  they  got  the  land. 

Now,  my  acquaintance  is  a  man  of  university  educa- 
tion, a  quoter  of  Haeckel  and  Darwin,  with  "survival  of 
the  fittest"  as  his  guiding  motto  since  his  Jena  days. 
Says  he,  quoting  a  Scotchman: 

"Tone  it  down  as  you  will,  the  fact  remains  that 
Darwinism  regards  animals  as  going  up-stairs,  in  a 
struggle  for  individual  ends,  often  on  the  corpses  of 
their  fellows,  often  by  a  blood-and-iron  competition, 
often  by  a  strange  mixture  of  blood  and  cunning,  in 
which  each  looks  out  for  himself  and  extinction  besets 
the  hindmost." 

Further  says  my  stern  acquaintance,  specially  when 
in  his  cups: 

"The  whole  system  of  life-development  is  that  of  the 
lower  providing  food  for  the  higher  in  ever-expanding 
circles  of  organic  existence,  from  protozoea  to  steers, 
from  the  black  African  to  the  educated  and  employing 
man.  We  build  on  the  ribs  of  the  steers,  and  on  the 
backs  of  the  lower  grade  of  human." 

Scientific  books  have  taken  the  place  of  the  Bible 
as  a  quotation-treasury  of  proof  for  whatever  their 
reader  most  desires  to  prove.  Now  I  am  no  scientist 
and  take,  indeed,  only  the  casual  interest  of  the  average 


326  WHITE  SHADOWS 

man  in  the  facts  and  theories  of  science.  But  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  in  his  theory  of  the  survival  of  the 
fittest  my  acquaintance  curiously  overlooks  the  ques- 
tion of  man's  own  survival  as  a  species. 

If  we  are  to  base  our  actions  upon  this  cold-blooded 
and  inhuman  view  of  the  universe,  let  us  consider  that 
universe  as  in  fact  inhuman,  and  having  no  concern  for 
man  except  as  a  species  of  animal  very  possibly  doomed 
to  extinction,  as  many  other  species  of  animal  have 
been  doomed  in  the  past,  unless  he  proves  his  fitness  to 
survive  not  as  an  individual,  but  as  a  species. 

Now  man  is  a  gregarious  animal;  he  lives  in  herds. 
The  characteristic  of  the  herd  is  that  within  it  the  law 
of  survival  of  the  fittest  almost  ceases  to  operate.  The 
value  of  a  herd  is  that  its  members  protect  each  other 
instead  of  preying  upon  each  other.  Nor,  in  what  we 
are  pleased  to  call  the  animal  kingdom,  do  herds  of 
the  same  species  prey  upon  each  other.  They  rather 
unite  for  the  protection  of  their  weaker  members. 

So  far  as  I  am  informed,  mankind  is  the  only  herd 
of  which  this  is  not  true.  Cattle  and  horses  unite  in 
protecting  the  young  and  feeble ;  sheep  huddle  together 
against  cold  and  wolves;  bees  and  ants  work  only  for 
the  welfare  of  the  swarm,  which  is  the  welfare  of  all. 
This,  we  are  told,  is  the  reason  these  forms  of  life  have 
survived.  But  ship  officers  beat  sailors  because  sailors 
have  no  firearms  and  fear  charges  of  mutiny.  Police- 
men club  prisoners  who  are  poorly  dressed.  Employees 
make  profits  from  the  toil  of  children.  Strong  nations 
prey  on  weak  peoples,  and  the  white  man  kills  the  white 
man  and  the  black  and  brown  and  yellow  man  in  mine, 
plantation,  and  forest  the  world  over. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  327 

He  defends  this  murder  of  his  own  kind  by  the  pat 
phrase  "survival  of  the  fittest."  But  man  is  not  a  soli- 
tary animal,  he  is  a  herd  animal,  and  within  the  herd 
nature's  definition  of  fitness  does  not  apply.  The  herd 
is  a  refuge  against  the  law  of  tooth  and  fang.  Im- 
porting within  the  herd  his  own  interpretation  of  that 
law,  man  is  destroying  the  strength  of  his  shelter.  By 
so  much  as  one  man  preys  upon  or  debases  another  man, 
he  weakens  the  strength  of  the  man-herd.  And  for 
man  it  is  the  herd,  not  the  individual,  that  must  meet 
that  stern  law  of  "the  survival  of  the  fittest"  on  the 
vast  impersonal  arena  of  the  universe. 

"Bully  'Ayes  was  the  man  to  make  the  Kanakas 
work!"  said  Lying  Bill  Pincher.  "I  used  to  be  on 
Penryn  Island  and  that  was  'is  old  'ang-out.  'Ayes 
was  a  pleasant  man  to  meet.  'E  was  'orspitable  as  a 
'ungry  shark  to  a  swimming  missionary.  Bald  he  was 
as  a  bloomin'  crab,  stout  and  smiling. 

"  'E  'ad  two  white  wives  a-setting  in  his  cabin  on  the 
schooner,  and  they  called  it  the  parlor.  Smart  wimmen 
they  was,  and  saved  'is  life  for  'im  more  'n  once.  'E  'd 
get  a  couple  of  chiefs  on  board  by  deceiving  'em  with 
rum,  and  hold  'em  until  'is  bloomin'  schooner  was  chock- 
a-block  with  copra.  The  'ole  island  would  be  working 
itself  to  death  to  free  the  chiefs.  Then  when  'e  'ad 
got  the  copra,  'e  'd  steal  a  'undred  or  two  Kanakas 
and  sell  'em  in  South  America. 

"  'E  was  smart,  and  yet  'e  got  'is'n.  'Is  mate  seen 
him  coming  over  the  side  with  blood  in  his  eye,  and 
batted  'im  on  'is  conch  as  'is  leg  swung  over  the 
schooner's  bul'ark.  'Ayes  dropped  with  'is  knife  be- 
tween 'is  teeth  and  'is  pistols  in  both  'ands, 


828  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"  'E  'd  murdered  'undreds  of  white  and  brown  and 
black  men,  and  'e  was  smart,  and  'e  got  away  with  it. 
But  'e  made  the  mistake  of  not  having  made  a  friend 
of  'is  right  'and  man." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

The  white  man  who  danced  in  Oomoa  Valley;  a  wild-boar  hunt  in  the 
hills;  the  feast  of  the  triumphant  hunters  and  a  dance  in  honor  of 
Grelet. 

GRELET  had  gone  in  a  whale-boat  to  Oia,  a 
dozen  miles  away,  to  collect  copra,  and  I  was 
left  with  an  empty  day  to  fill  as  I  chose.  The 
house,  the  garden,  and  the  unexplored  recesses  of 
Oomoa  Valley  were  mine,  with  whatever  they  might 
afford  of  entertainment  or  adventure.  Every  new  day, 
wherever  spent,  is  an  adventure,  but  when  to  the  enig- 
matic morning  is  added  the  zest  of  a  strange  place,  it 
must  be  a  dull  man  who  does  not  thrill  to  it. 

I  began  the  day  by  bathing  in  the  river  with  the  year- 
old  Tamaiti,  Grelet's  child.  Her  mother  was  Hina- 
tiaiani,  a  laughing,  beautiful  girl  of  sixteen  years,  and 
the  two  were  cared  for  by  Pae,  a  woman  of  forty,  ugly 
and  childless.  Hinatiaiani  was  her  adopted  daughter, 
and  Pae  had  been  sorely  angered  when  Grelet,  whose 
companion  she  had  been  for  eighteen  years,  took  the 
girl.  But  with  the  birth  of  Tamaiti,  Pae  became  re- 
conciled, and  looked  after  the  welfare  of  the  infant 
more  than  the  volatile  young  mother. 

Tamaiti  had  never  had  a  garment  upon  her  sturdy 
small  body,  and  looked  a  plump  cherub  as  she  played 
about  the  veranda,  crawling  in  the  puddles  when  the 
rain  drove  across  the  floor. 

"The  infant  has  never  been  sick,"  Grelet  had  said. 


330  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"One  afternoon  I  was  starting  for  the  river  to  bathe, 
when  that  girl  was  making  herself  a  bed  of  cocoanut- 
leaves  under  the  house.  She  said  she  expected  the 
baby,  as,  when  she  climbed  a  cocoanut-tree  a  moment 
earlier,  she  had  felt  a  movement.  She  would  not  lie 
in  a  bed,  but,  like  her  mother  before  her,  must  make  her 
a  nest  of  cocoanut-leaves.  When  I  returned  from  my 
bath,  Tamaiti  was  born.  She  was  chopping  wood  next 
day — the  mother,  I  mean." 

Though  scarcely  a  twelve-month  old,  the  baby  swam 
like  a  frog  in  the  clear  water  of  the  river,  gurgling  at 
intervals  scraps  of  what  must  have  been  Marquesan 
baby-talk,  unintelligible  to  me,  but  showing  plainly  her 
enjoyment.  Something  of  European  caution,  however, 
still  remained  with  me  and,  perhaps  unnecessarily,  I 
picked  up  the  dripping  little  body  and  carried  her  up 
the  garden  path  to  the  house  when  I  returned  for  break- 
fast. Pae  received  her  with  no  concern,  and  gave  her  a 
piece  of  cocoanut  to  suck.  I  saw  the  infant,  clutching 
it  in  one  hand,  toddling  and  stumbling  river-ward  again 
when  after  breakfast  I  set  out  for  a  walk  up  Oomoa 
Valley. 

Oomoa  was  far  wilder  than  Atuona,  more  lonely,  with 
hundreds  of  vacant  paepaes.  Miles  of  land,  once  cul- 
tivated, had  been  taken  again  by  the  jungle,  as  estates 
lapsed  to  nature  after  thousands  of  years  of  man.  Still, 
even  far  from  the  houses,  delicate  trees  had  preserved 
themselves  in  some  mysterious  way,  and  oranges  and 
limes  offered  themselves  to  me  in  the  thickets. 

The  river  that  emptied  into  the  bay  below  Grelet's 
plantation  flowed  down  the  valley  from  the  heights,  and 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  331 

beside  it  ran  the  trail,  a  road  for  half  a  mile,  then  a  track 
growing  fainter  with  every  mile,  hardly  distinguishable 
from  the  tangle  of  trees  and  bushes  on  either  side. 
Here  and  there  I  saw  a  native  house  built  of  bamboo 
and  matting,  very  simple  shelters  with  an  open  space 
for  a  doorway,  but  wholesome,  clean,  and,  to  me,  beau- 
tiful. I  met  no  one,  and  most  of  the  huts  were  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  but  from  one  nearer  the  track 
a  voice  called  to  me,  "Kaolia!  Manihii,  a  tata  mail 
Greeting;  stranger,  come  to  us!" 

The  hut,  which,  by  measurement,  was  ten  feet  by 
six,  held  six  women  and  girls,  all  lying  at  ease  on  piles 
of  mats.  It  was  a  rendezvous  of  gossips,  a  place  for 
siestas  and  scandal.  One  had  seen  and  hailed  me,  and 
when  I  came  to  their  paepae,  they  all  filed  out  and 
surrounded  me,  gently  and  politely,  but  curiously.  Ob- 
viously they  had  seen  few  whites. 

The  six  were  from  thirteen  to  twenty  years  of  age, 
four  of  them  strikingly  beautiful,  with  the  grace  of 
wild  animals  and  the  bright,  soft  eyes  of  children. 
Smiling  and  eager  to  be  better  acquainted  with  me, 
they  examined  my  puttees  of  spiral  wool,  my  pongee 
shirt,  and  khaki  riding-breeches,  the  heavy  seams  of 
which  they  felt  and  discussed.  They  discovered  a  tiny 
rip,  and  the  eldest  insisted  that  I  take  off  the  breeches 
while  she  sewed  it. 

As  this  was  my  one  chance  to  prevent  the  rip  grow- 
ing into  a  gulf  that  would  ultimately  swallow  the  trou- 
sers, I  permitted  the  stitch  in  time,  and  having  nothing 
in  my  pockets  for  reward,  I  danced  a  jig.  I  cannot 
dance  a  step  or  sing  a  note  correctly,  but  in  this  archi- 


332  WHITE  SHADOWS 

pelago  I  had  won  inter-island  fame  as  a  dancer  of 
strange  and  amusing  measures,  and  a  singer  of  the  queer 
songs  of  the  whites. 

Recalling  the  cake-walks,  sand-sifting,  pigeon-wing- 
ing, and  Juba-patting  of  the  south,  the  sailor's  horn- 
pipe, the  sword-dance  of  the  Scotch,  and  the  metro- 
politan version  of  the  tango,  I  did  my  best,  while  the 
thrilled  air  of  Oomoa  Valley  echoed  these  words,  yelled 
to  my  fullest  lung  capacity: 

"There  was  an  old  soldier  and  he  had  a  wooden  leg, 
And  he  had  no  tobacco,  so  tobacco  did  he  beg. 
Said  the  soldier  to  the  sailor,  "Will  you  give  me  a  chew?" 
Said  the  sailor  to  the  soldier,  "I  '11  be  damned  if  I  do ! 
Keep  your  mind  on  your  number  and  your  finger  on  your  rocks, 
And  you  '11  always  have  tobacco  in  your  old  tobacco  box." 

Dancing  and  singing  thus  on  the  flat  stones  of  the 
paepae  of  the  six  Fatu-hiva  ladies,  I  gave  back  a  thou- 
sand-fold their  aid  to  my  disordered  trousers.  They 
laughed  till  they  fell  back  on  the  rocks,  they  lifted  the 
ends  of  their  pareus  to  wipe  their  eyes,  and  they  de- 
manded an  encore,  which  I  obligingly  gave  them  in  a 
song  I  had  kept  in  mind  since  boyhood.  It  was  about 
a  young  man  who  took  his  girl  to  a  fancy  ball,  and 
afterward  to  a  restaurant,  and  though  he  had  but  fifty 
cents  and  she  said  she  was  not  hungry,  she  ate  the  menu 
from  raw  oysters  to  pousse-cafe,  and  turned  it  over  for 
more. 

It  went  with  a  Kerry  jig  that  my  grandfather  used 
to  do,  and  if  grandfather,  with  his  rare  ability,  ever 
drew  more  uproarious  applause  than  I,  it  must  have 
been  a  red-letter  day  for  him,  even  in  Ireland.  My 
hearers  screamed  in  an  agony  of  delight,  and  others 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  333 

dwelling  far  away,  or  passing  laden  with  breadfruit 
and  bananas,  gathered  while  I  chortled  and  leaped,  and 
made  the  mountain-side  ring  with  Marquesan  bravos. 

With  difficulty  I  made  my  escape,  but  my  success 
pursued  me.  "Menike  haka!"  came  the  cry  from  each 
house  I  passed,  for  the  news  had  been  called  over  the 
distance,  and  to  the  farthest  reaches  of  the  valley  it 
was  known  that  an  American,  the  American  who  had 
come  on  the  Roberta,  with  a  box  that  wrote,  was  danc- 
ing along  the  route. 

As  in  the  old  days  of  war  or  other  crisis,  the  cry  had 
been  raised,  and  was  echoed  from  all  directions,  and 
from  hut  to  cocoanut-tree  to  crag  the  call  was  heard, 
growing  fainter  and  more  feeble,  dying  gradually  from 
point  to  point,  echoing  farther  and  yet  farther  in  the 
distance.  This  was  the  ancient  telegraph-system  of  the 
islanders,  by  which  an  item  of  information  sped  in  a 
moment  to  the  most  remote  edges  of  the  valley.  Un- 
wittingly, in  my  gratitude,  I  had  raised  it,  and  now  I 
pursued  my  way  in  the  glare  of  a  pitiless  publicity. 

I  was  met  almost  immediately  by  a  score  of  men  and 
women  who  had  left  the  gathering  of  fruit  or  the  duties 
of  the  household  to  greet  me.  Fafo,  the  leader,  be- 
sought me  earnestly  to  accompany  them  to  a  neighbor- 
ing paepae  and  dance  for  them. 

He  had  the  finest  eyes  I  have  ever  seen  in  a  man's 
head,  dark  brown,  almond-shaped,  large  and  lustrous, 
wells  of  melancholy.  There  was  something  exquisite 
about  the  young  man,  his  lemon-colored  skin,  his  deli- 
cate hands  and  feet,  his  slender,  though  strong,  body, 
and  his  regular,  brilliant  teeth.  Some  Spanish  don 
had  bred  him,  or  some  moody  Italian  with  music  in  his 


334  WHITE  SHADOWS 

soul,  for  he  was  a  Latin  in  face  and  figure.  His  eyes 
had  that  wistfulness  as  they  sought  mine  which  the 
Tahitians  have  put  well  in  one  of  their  picture-words, 
ano-anouri,  "the  yearning,  sorrowful  gaze  of  a  dog 
watching  his  master  at  dinner." 

A  belated  shrinking  from  renown,  however,  made  me 
reject  his  pleas,  and  perceiving  a  pool  near  at  hand, 
I  softened  refusal  by  a  suggestion  that  we  bathe.  The 
pool,  I  learned,  was  famous  in  the  valley,  for  one  could 
swim  forty  feet  in  it,  and  on  the  other  side  the  hill  rose 
straight,  with  banana-trees  overhanging  the  water  forty 
feet  above.  We  climbed  this  rocky  face  and  dived  into 
the  water  again  and  again,  rejoicing  in  its  coolness  and 
in  that  sheer  pagan  delight  of  the  dive,  when  in  the 
air  man  becomes  all  animal,  freed  from  every  restraint 
and  denied  every  safeguard  save  the  strength  of  his  own 
muscle  and  nerve. 

We  saw  at  last,  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  one  of 
Grelet's  dogs,  whining  for  attention.  He  was  badly 
wounded  in  two  places,  blood  dripped  on  the  rocks  from 
open  cuts  three  inches  long,  and  one  paw  hung  helpless, 
while  with  eager  cries  and  beseeching  looks  he  urged  us 
to  avenge  him  in  his  private  feud  with  a  boar.  As- 
sured of  our  interest,  he  stayed  not  to  be  comforted 
or  cured,  but  hobbled  eagerly  up  the  trail,  begging  us 
with  whines  to  accompany  him. 

Five  men  and  several  other  dogs  followed  the 
wounded  hound,  and  I  went  with  them.  The  Mar- 
quesans  had  war-clubs  and  long  knives  like  undersized 
machetes.  Every  Islander  carries  such  a  knife  for  cut- 
ting underbrush  or  cocoanut-stems,  and  usually  it  is  his 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  335 

only  tool  for  building  native  houses,  so  that  he  becomes 
very  expert  with  it,  as  the  Filipino  with  his  bolo  or  the 
Cuban  with  his  machete. 

For  several  hours  we  climbed  the  slopes,  until  we 
came  upon  a  narrow  trail  cut  in  the  side  of  a  cliff,  a 
path  perhaps  two  feet  wide,  with  sheer  wall  of  rock 
above  and  abrupt  precipice  below.  On  this  the  chief 
hunter  stationed  himself  and  two  men  while  the  others 
scouted  below.  This  leader  was  a  man  of  sixty,  tat- 
tooed from  toes  to  scalp  on  one  side  only,  so  that  he 
was  queerly  parti-colored,  and  capping  this  odd  figure, 
he  wore  a  pair  of  steel-rimmed  spectacles.  He  mo- 
tioned to  me  to  take  my  place  in  a  niche  of  the  cliff, 
where  I  could  stand  and  sweep  the  trail  with  my  eyes, 
secure  from  assault.  He  had  given  directions  to  the 
others  and  intended  to  provide  for  me  a  rare  sight,  and 
to  gain  for  himself  a  trifle  of  the  glory  that  had  been 
his  as  a  young  man  in  wars  against  neighboring  valleys. 

For  an  hour  we  waited  and  smoked,  hearing  from 
time  to  time  the  clamor  of  men  and  dogs  in  the  thickets 
below.  The  common  way  of  hunting  boars,  said  the 
chief,  was  to  chase  them  through  the  woods  and  kill  them 
by  throwing  tomahawks  at  them.  This  method  allows 
the  hunter  to  have  a  tree  always  within  a  short  run, 
and  about  these  trees  he  dodges  when  pursued,  or  if 
too  closely  pressed,  climbs  one.  It  is  dangerous  sport, 
as  only  a  cool  and  experienced  man  can  drive  a  knife 
into  a  vital  part  of  a  boar  in  full  career,  and  no  wound 
in  non-vital  parts  will  cause  the  desperate  beast  even 
to  falter. 

Gradually  the  cries  of  the  men  and  the  barking  of 


336  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  dogs  grew  nearer,  and  suddenly,  bursting  from  the 
bushes  some  distance  down  the  trail,  we  saw  ten  bris- 
tling hogs.  They  had  been  driven  upward  until  they 
reached  the  artificial  shelf,  and  behind  them  hounds  and 
hunters  cut  off  all  escape. 

"Apau!  Aia  oe  a!"  shouted  the  rear-guard  as  the 
boars  took  the  trail.  "Lo!  Prepare  to  strike!" 

The  three  slayers  gripped  their  clubs  and  braced  their 
feet.  I  was  above  the  chief,  who  was  the  last  of  the 
trio.  Where  he  planted  his  feet,  the  path  was  most 
narrow,  so  that  two  could  not  pass.  His  knife  was  in 
his  pareu,  which,  to  leave  his  legs  unhampered,  he  had 
rolled  and  tucked  in  until  it  was  no  more  than  a  G- 
string.  His  muscles  were  like  the  cordage  of  the  faufee 
— the  vine  that  strangles — and  his  chest  like  a  great 
buckler,  half  blue  and  half  copper. 
,  ffPeo!  Pepo!  Huepe!  Huope!"  yelled  the  scouts, 
in  the  "tally-ho!"  cry  of  Marquesan,  and  the  boars 
struck  the  trail  with  hatred  hot  in  their  eyes  and  with 
gnashing  tusks. 

The  three  slayers  were  five  hundred  feet  apart.  The 
first  struck  at  all  ten,  as  singly  they  rushed  past  him. 
Three  he  stopped.  The  second  man  laid  prostrate  four. 
The  three  remaining  were,  naturally,  the  fittest.  They 
were  huge,  hideous,  snarling  beasts,  bared  teeth  gleam- 
ing in  a  slather  of  foam,  eyes  bloodshot  and  vicious. 
The  old  chief  saw  them  coming;  he  saw,  too,  that  I  had 
shrunk  to  a  plaster  on  the  wall  while  he  faced  the  danger 
like  a  warrior  in  the  spear-test  of  their  old  warfare. 

"Aia!  Aia!"  he  said  to  encourage  me.  His  club 
of  ironwood,  its  edge  sharp  and  toothed,  he  grasped 
with  both  hands ;  he  widened  his  foothold  and  threw  his 


Feis,  or  mountain  bananas 

Man  in  pareu,  native  loin  cloth 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  337 

body  forward  to  withstand  a  shock.  He  calculated  to 
an  inch  the  arrival  of  the  first  boar,  and  swung  his  uu 
on  its  head  with  precision.  The  boar  crumpled  up  and 
fell  down  the  hillside.  The  second  he  struck  as  un- 
erringly, but  the  third  he  chose  to  kill  with  his  knife. 

He  laid  down  the  uu  and  drew  the  knife  with  one 
motion,  and  as  the  powerful  brute  rushed  at  him, 
stepped  aside  in  the  split  second  between  his  gauge  of 
its  position  and  its  leap.  His  knife  was  thrust  straight 
out.  It  met  the  boar  with  perfect  and  delicate  ac- 
curacy. The  beast  fell,  quivered  a  moment,  and  lay 
still. 

It  was  a  perfection  of  butchery,  for  one  slash  of  those 
tusks,  ripping  the  chief's  legs,  and  he  would  have  been 
down,  crashing  over  the  cliff,  and  dead.  I  was  almost 
in  chants  of  admiration  for  his  nerve  and  accuracy. 

"Ah,  if  this  had  been  war,  and  these  had  been  ene- 
mies!" 

The  dead  boars  were  slung  on  poles,  but  a  half  dozen 
had  to  be  left  on  branches  of  trees  for  the  morrow,  and 
it  was  late  in  the  day  when  we  reached  Grelet's  house 
for  the  feast. 

Pae,  the  elder  woman  of  the  household,  received  us 
joyously.  In  the  master's  absence  she  had  become  a 
different  being  from  the  sulky,  contrary  one  I  had  seen 
while  he  was  at  home.  Usually  she  and  Hinatiaiani, 
the  mother  of  the  baby,  ate  their  food  squatting  beside 
the  cook-house;  they  rarely  came  upon  the  veranda, 
never  sat  upon  a  chair,  and  never  were  asked  to  our 
table.  Now  they  were  in  complete  possession  of  the 
house  and  Pae  was  transformed  into  a  jolly  soul,  her 
kinsfolk  about  her  on  the  veranda  and  the  bottles  empty- 


338  WHITE  SHADOWS 

ing  fast.  She  celebrated  our  arrival  with  the  boars  by 
bringing  out  two  quarts  of  cr&me  de  menthe  and  a  bottle 
of  absinthe,  so  that  the  mice  with  the  big  cat  away 
played  an  uncorking  air  right  merrily. 

All  was  now  a  bustle  of  preparation  for  the  feast. 
While  many  prepared  the  earth-oven  for  the  pig,  the 
head  cook  made  fire  in  their  primitive  way,  using  the 
fire-plough  of  purau-wood  braced  against  a  pillar  of 
the  veranda.  Meantime  the  oven  was  dug,  sides  and 
bottom  lined  with  stones,  and  sticks  piled  within  it  for 
the  fire.  A  top  layer  of  stones  was  placed  on  the 
flames  and  when  it  had  grown  red-hot,  the  pig  was 
pulled  and  hauled  over  it  until  the  bristles  were  re- 
moved. The  carcass  was  then  carried  to  the  river,  the 
intestines  removed,  and  inside  and  outside  thoroughly 
washed  in  a  place  where  the  current  was  strong. 

The  oven  was  made  ready  for  its  reception  by  remov- 
ing the  upper  layer  of  stones  and  the  fire,  and  placing 
banana-leaves  all  about  the  bottom  and  sides,  in  which 
the  pig,  his  own  interior  filled  with  hot  stones  wrapped 
in  leaves,  was  placed,  with  native  sweet-potatoes  and 
yams  beside  him.  More  leaves  covered  all,  and  another 
layer  of  red  hot  stones.  A  surface  of  dirt  sealed  the 
oven. 

A  young  dog  was  also  part  of  the  fare,  and  was 
cooked  in  the  same  manner  as  the  pig.  The  Mar- 
quesans  are  fond  of  dogs.  This  particular  one  had 
been  brought  to  this  valley  from  another  and  was  not 
on  friendly  terms  with  any  of  his  butchers.  In  fact, 
his  death  was  due  more  to  revenge  than  to  hunger  for 
his  flesh.  He  had  bitten  the  leg  of  a  man  who  lived 
in  the  upper  part  of  Oomoa,  and  when  this  man  came 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  339 

limping  to  the  banquet,  he  brought  the  biter  as  his  con- 
tribution. 

Those  who  would  turn  up  their  noses  at  Towser  must 
hear  Captain  Cook,  who  was  himself  slain  and  dis- 
membered in  Hawaii: 

"The  flesh  of  the  South  Sea  Dog  is  a  meat  not  to  be 
despised.  It  is  next  to  our  English  Lamb." 

Personally  I  am  willing  to  let  it  be  next  to  lamb  at 
every  meal,  and  I  shall  always  take  its  neighbor,  but 
it  argues  a  narrow  taste  not  to  concede  that  the  dishes 
of  our  foreign  friends  may  have  a  relish  all  their  own. 
Dog  has  been  a  Maori  tidbit  for  thousands  of  years. 
It  was  introduced  into  New  Zealand  from  these  islands. 
The  aborigines  had  a  fierce,  undomesticated  dog,  which 
they  hunted  for  its  flesh.  It  was  a  sort  of  fox, 
but  disappeared  before  the  Polynesians  reached  the 
islands. 

All  Polynesians  have  liked  dogs,  liked  them  as  pets, 
as  they  do  to-day,  and  liked  them  as  grub.  If  one  asks 
how  one  can  pet  Fido  Monday  and  eat  him  Tuesday, 
I  will  reply  that  we,  the  highest  types  of  civilization, 
pet  calves  and  lambs,  chickens  and  rabbits,  and  find 
them  not  a  whit  the  less  toothsome.  The  Marquesan 
loves  his  pig  as  we  love  our  dog,  cuddles  him,  calls  him 
fond  names,  believes  that  he  goes  to  heaven, — and  never- 
theless roasts  him  for  dinner. 

The  yams,  potatoes,  breadfruit,  and  other  accom- 
paniments of  the  dog,  pig,  and  chicken  were  all  ready 
at  six  o'clock,  when  cries  of  delight  summoned  us  idlers. 
The  earth  had  been  cleared  from  the  oven,  the  leaves 
removed,  and  the  pig  was  lifted  into  the  air,  cooked 
to  a  turn,  succulent,  steaming,  delicious.  The  feast 


340  WHITE  SHADOWS 

was  spread  in  a  clearing,  so  that  the  sun,  sinking  slowly 
in  the  west,  might  filter  his  rays  through  the  lofty  trees 
and  leave  us  brightened  by  his  presence,  but  cool  in  the 
shadows.  For  me  a  Roman  couch  of  mats  was  spread, 
while  the  natives  squatted  in  the  comfort  of  men  whose 
legs  are  natural. 

The  women  waited  upon  us,  passing  all  the  food  in 
leaves,  in  cleanly  fashion.  Pae  herself,  though  hostess, 
could  not  eat  till  all  the  men  were  satisfied,  for  the  tapu 
still  holds,  though  without  authority.  Knives  nor  forks 
hindered  our  free  onslaught  upon  the  edibles,  and  there 
were  cocoanut-shells  beside  each  of  us  for  washing  our 
hands  between  courses,  a  usual  custom. 

Piahi,  the  native  chestnuts  shelled  and  cooked  in 
cocoanut-milk,  were  an  appetizer,  followed  by  small  fish, 
which  we  ate  raw  after  soaking  them  in  lime  juice. 
There  is  no  dish  that  the  white  man  so  soon  learns  to 
crave  and  so  long  remembers  when  departed.  Some 
of  the  guests  did  not  like  the  sauce,  but  took  their 
small  fish  by  the  tail,  dripping  with  salt  water,  and 
ate  it  as  one  might  eat  celery,  bones,  and  all. 

With  the  main  course  were  served  dried  squid  and 
porpoise,  and  fresh  flying-fish  and  bonito  and  shrimp. 
The  feast  was  complete  with  mangoes,  oranges,  and 
pineapples,  also  bananas  ripened  in  the  expeditious  way 
of  the  Marquesas.  They  bury  them  in  a  deep  hole 
lined  with  cracked  candlenuts  and  grass  and  cover 
all  with  earth.  In  several  days — and  they  know  the 
right  time  to  an  hour — the  bananas  are  dug  up,  yellow 
and  sweet. 

Pae  furnished  a  limited  quantity  of  rum  for  the 
fete,  and  a  cocoanut-shell  filled  with  namu  was  passed 


Elephantiasis  of  the  legs 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  341 

about.  Every  one  was  already  enthusiastic,  and  after 
several  drinks  of  the  powerful  sugar-distillation  pipes 
were  lit  and  palaver  began.  I  had  to  tell  stories  of  my 
strange  country,  of  the  things  called  cities,  large  vil- 
lages without  a  river  through  them,  so  big  that  they 
held  tini  tini  tini  tini  mano  mano  mano  mano  people, 
with  single  houses  in  which  more  people  worked  than 
there  were  in  all  the  islands.  Such  a  house  might  be 
higher  than  three  or  four  cocoanut  trees  stood  one  on 
the  other,  and  no  one  walked  up-stairs,  but  rode  in 
boxes  lifted  by  ropes. 

"How  many  men  to  a  rope?"  asked  Pae. 

The  old  men  told  me  about  their  battles,  much  as  at 
a  reunion  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  the 
veterans  fight  again  the  Civil  war.  One  man,  whose 
tattooing  striped  his  body  like  the  blue  bands  of  a  con- 
vict's suit,  said  that  it  was  the  custom  on  Fatu-hiva  for 
the  leader  or  chief  on  each  side  to  challenge  the  enemy 
champion. 

"Our  army  stood  thirty  or  forty  feet  away  from  the 
other  army,"  said  he,  "and  our  chief  stood  still  while 
the  other  threw  his  spear.  If  it  struck  our  chief,  at 
once  the  warriors  rushed  into  battle;  if  it  missed,  our 
chief  had  the  right  to  go  close  to  the  other  and  thrust 
a  spear  through  his  heart.  The  other  stood  firm  and 
proud.  He  smiled  with  scorn.  He  looked  on  the  spear 
when  it  was  raised,  and  he  did  not  tremble.  But  some- 
times he  was  saved  by  his  courage,  for  our  chief  after 
looking  at  him  with  terrible  eyes,  said,  'O  man  of  heart, 
go  your  way,  and  never  dare  again  to  fight  such  a  great 
warrior  as  I !' 

"That  ended  the  war.     The  other  chief  was  ashamed, 


342  WHITE  SHADOWS 

and  led  his  men  down  to  their  own  valley.  But  if  our 
chief  had  killed  him,  then  there  was  war;  at  once  we 
struck  with  the  u'u  and  ran  forward  with  our  spears. 
These  battles  gave  many  names  to  children,  names  re- 
membering the  death  or  wounding  of  the  glorious  deeds 
of  the  warriors.  To  await  calmly  the  spear  of  the  other 
chief,  the  head  raised,  the  eyes  never  winking,  to  look 
at  the  spear  as  at  a  welcome  gift — that  was  what  our 
chiefs  must  do.  Death  was  not  so  terrible,  but  to  leave 
one's  body  in  the  hands  of  the  foe,  to  be  eaten,  to  know 
that  one's  skull  would  be  hung  in  a  tree,  and  one's 
bones  made  into  tattoo  needles  or  fish-hooks — ! 
Toomanu! 

"We  are  not  the  men  we  were.  We  do  not  eat  the 
'Long  Pig'  any  more,  but  we  have  not  the  courage,  the 
skill,  or  the  strength.  When  the  spears  were  thrown, 
and  each  man  had  but  one,  then  the  fight  was  with  the 
u'u,  hand  to  hand  and  eye  to  eye.  That  was  a  fight 
of  men!  The  gun  is  the  weapon  of  cowards.  It  is 
the  gun  that  fights,  not  the  man. 

"Our  last  fight  we  brought  back  four  bodies.  Meat 
spoils  quickly.  We  had  our  feast  right  here  where  we 
sit  now." 

Excited  barking  of  the  dogs  announced  the  arrival 
of  Grelet  with  several  men.  They  had  rowed  all  the 
way  to  Oia  and  had  sailed  back,  arriving  by  chance  in 
time  to  share  the  abundance  of  our  feast.  After  the 
twelve-mile  pull  in  the  blazing  sun  and  the  toilsome 
journey  back  by  night  this  feast  was  their  reward,  and 
all  their  pay. 

Pae,  reduced  once  more  to  sullen  servitude,  poured 
the  rum,  generous  portions  of  it  in  cocoanut-shells, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  343 

which  the  newcomers  emptied  as  they  ate,  hastening 
soon  to  join  the  other  guests  on  the  broad  veranda, 
where  late  at  night  a  chant  began. 

Half  a  dozen  men,  tattooed  from  toes  to  waist  and 
some  to  the  roots  of  their  hair,  sat  on  a  mat  on  the  floor, 
all  naked  except  for  their  pareus,  the  red  and  yellow  of 
which  shone  in  the  light  of  the  oil-lamps  in  brightening 
contrast  to  brown  skins  and  dark  blue  ink.  One  was 
far  gone  with  fefe,  his  legs  almost  as  large  as  those 
of  an  elephant.  He  was  a  grotesque  in  hideous  green. 
The  blue  of  the  candlenut-ink,  in  bizzare  designs  upon 
body  and  legs,  had  turned  a  scaly  greenish  hue  from 
age  and  kava  excesses.  Revealed  in  the  yellow  light, 
he  was  like  a  ghastly  bronze  monstrosity  that  had  known 
the  weathering  of  a  century. 

He  was  the  leader  of  the  chant  and,  like  all  the  others, 
had  drunk  plenty  of  Grelet's  rum.  The  pipe  was  pass- 
ing, and  Grelet  took  his  pull  at  it  in  the  circle.  The 
chant  was  of  the  adventures  of  the  day.  The  hunters 
and  specially  Namu  Ou  Mio,  the  slayer  of  the  three 
boars,  told  of  the  deed  of  prowess  on  the  cliff-side,  while 
the  others  sang  of  their  journey  and  the  sea.  Squatting 
on  the  mat,  they  bent  and  swayed  in  pantomine,  tell- 
ing the  tales,  lifting  their  voices  in  praises  of  their  own 
deeds  and  of  the  virtues  of  Grelet. 

That  thrifty  Swiss,  in  red  breech-clout  and  spectacles, 
the  lamplight  shining  on  his  bald  head,  sat  in  the  midst 
of  them,  familiar  by  a  score  of  years  with  their  chants. 
Pae  filled  the  pipe  and  the  bowls  and  joined  in  the 
chorus,  while  the  Paumotan  boys,  in  a  shadowy  recess, 
sipped  their  rum  and  rolled  their  eyes  in  astonished 
appreciation  of  the  first  joviality  of  their  lives. 


344  WHITE  SHADOWS 

When  the  leader  began  the  ancient  cannibal  chant, 
the  song  of  war  and  of  feasting  at  the  High  Place,  the 
tattooed  men  forgot  even  the  rum.  The  nights  of  riot 
after  return  from  the  battle,  the  righting  qualities  of 
their  fathers,  the  cheer  of  the  fires,  the  heat  of  the  ovens, 
and  the  baking  of  the  "Long  Pig,"  and  the  hours  when 
the  most  beautiful  girls  danced  naked  to  win  the  acclaim 
of  the  multitude  and  to  honor  their  parents;  all  these 
they  celebrated.  The  leader  gave  the  first  line  in  a 
dramatic  tone,  and  the  others  chanted  the  chorus.  Most 
of  the  verses  they  knew  by  rote,  but  there  were  im- 
provisations that  brought  applause  from  all. 

At  midnight  the  man  with  the  elephantiasis  removed 
his  pareu  to  free  his  enormous  legs  for  dancing,  and  he 
and  the  others,  their  hands  joined,  moved  ponderously 
in  a  tripping  circle  before  the  couch  on  which  I  lay. 
The  chant  was  now  a  recital  of  my  merits,  the  chief  of 
which  was  that  I  was  a  friend  of  Grelet,  that  mighty 
man  wiser  than  Iholomoni  (Solomon),  with  more  wives 
than  that  great  king,  and  stronger  heart  to  chase  the 
wild  bull.  He  steers  a  whale-boat  with  a  finger,  but  no 
wave  can  tear  the  helm  from  his  grasp.  Long  has  he 
been  in  Oomoa,  just  and  brave  and  generous  has  he 
been,  and  his  rum  is  the  best  that  is  made  in  the  far 
island  of  Tahiti. 

So  passed  the  night  and  the  rum,  in  a  pandemonium 
of  voices,  gyrating  tattooed  bodies,  flashes  of  red  and 
yellow  and  blue  pawns,  rolling  eyes,  curls  of  smoke 
drifting  under  the  gently  moving  canvas  ceiling,  while 
from  the  garden  came  the  scent  of  innumerable  dewy 
flowers ;  and  at  intervals  in  the  chanting  I  heard  from 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  345 

the  darkness  of  the  bay  the  sound  of  a  conch-shell  blown 
on  some  wayfaring  boat. 

I  dozed,  and  wakened  to  see  Grelet  asleep.  Pae  was 
still  filling  the  emptied  cocoanut-shells,  and  the  swollen 
green  man  postured  before  me  like  some  horrid  figment 
of  a  dream.  I  roused  myself  again.  Pae  had  locked 
up  the  song-maker,  and  all  the  tattooed  men  slumbered 
where  they  sat,  the  Paumotan  boys  with  sunbonnets  tied 
about  their  heads  lay  in  their  corner,  dreaming,  perhaps, 
of  their  loved  home  on  Pukaruha.  I  woke  again  to  find 
the  garden  green  and  still  in  the  gray  morning,  and  the 
veranda  vacant. 

The  Marquesans  were  all  in  the  river,  lying  down 
among  the  boulders  to  cool  their  aching  heads.  The 
fefe  sufferer  stood  like  a  slime-covered  rock  in  the 
stream.  His  swollen  legs  hurt  him  dreadfully.  Rum 
is  not  good  for  fefe. 

"Guddammee!"  he  said  to  me  in  his  one  atterrmt  at 
our  cultured  language,  and  put  his  body  deep  in  a  pool. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

A  visit  to  Hanavave;  Pere  Olivier  at  home;  the  story  of  the  last  battle 
between  Hanahouua  and  Oi,  told  by  the  sole  survivor;  the  making  of 
tapa  cloth,  and  the  ancient  garments  of  the  Marquesans. 

GRELET  said  that  the  conch  I  had  heard  at 
night  sounding  off  Oomoa  must  have  been  in  a 
canoe  or  whale-boat  bound  for  Hanavave,  a 
valley  a  dozen  miles  away  over  the  mountains,  but  only 
an  hour  or  so  by  sea.  It  might  have  brought  a  message 
of  interest,  or  perhaps  would  be  a  conveyance  to  my 
own  valley,  so  in  mid-forenoon  we  launched  Grelet's 
whale-boat  for  a  journey  to  Hanavave. 

Eight  men  carried  the  large  boat  from  its  shelter  to 
the  water,  slung  on  two  short  thick  poles  by  loops  of 
rope  through  holes  in  prow  and  stern.  It  was  as  grace- 
ful as  a  swan,  floating  in  the  edge  of  the  breakers. 
Driving  it  through  the  surf  was  cautious,  skilful  work, 
at  which  Grelet  was  a  master.  Haupupuu,  who  built 
the  boat,  a  young  man  with  the  features  of  Bonaparte 
and  a  blase  expression,  was  at  the  bow,  and  three  other 
Marquesans,  with  the  two  Paumotan  boys,  handled  the 
oars.  There  was  no  wind  and  they  rowed  all  the  way, 
spurting  often  for  love  of  excitement. 

We  skirted  a  coast  of  almost  vertical  cliffs  crowned 
by  cocoas,  the  faces  of  the  rock  black  or  covered  above 
the  waterline  with  vines  and  plants,  green  and  luxuriant. 
Long  stretches  of  white  curtains  and  huge  pictures  in 
curious  outlines  were  painted  on  the  sable  cliffs  by  en- 
crusted salt.  The  sea  surged  in  leaping  fountains 

346 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  347 

through  a  thousand  blow-holes  carved  from  the  black 
basalt,  and  the  ceaseless  wash  of  the  waves  had  cut  the 
base  of  the  precipices  into  paniho,  or  teeth,  as  the  Mar- 
quesans  say. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  indentations  in  the  bleak  and 
rugged  coast,  each  a  little  valley  guarded  by  cliffs  on 
both  sides,  the  natural  obstacle  to  neighborliness  that 
made  enemies  of  the  clans.  Inhabitants  of  plains  are 
usually  friendly.  Mountains  make  feuds. 

We  passed  the  valley  of  Hana  Ui,  inhabited  when 
Grelet  came,  and  full  of  rich  cotton-fields,  now  a  waste 
with  never  a  soul  in  it.  We  passed  Eue,  Utea,  Tetio, 
Nanifapoto,  Hana  Puaea  and  Mata  Utuoa,  all  empty 
of  the  living;  graveyards  and  deserted  paepaes.  Thou- 
sands made  merry  in  them  when  the  missionaries  first  re- 
corded their  numbers.  Death  hung  like  a  cloud  over 
the  desolate  wilderness  of  these  valleys,  over  the  stern 
and  gloomy  cliffs,  black  and  forbidding,  carved  into 
monstrous  shapes  and  rimmed  with  the  fantastic  patterns 
made  by  the  unresting  sea. 

Near  Matu  Utuoa  was  a  great  natural  bridge,  under 
which  the  ocean  rushed  in  swirling  currents,  foam,  and 
spray.  Turning  a  shoulder  of  the  cliff,  we  entered  the 
Bay  of  Virgins  and  were  confronted  with  the  titanic 
architecture  of  Hanavave,  Alps  in  ruins,  once  coral 
reefs  and  now  thrust  up  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 
Fantastic  headlands,  massive  towers,  obelisks,  pyramids, 
and  needles  were  an  extravaganza  in  rock,  monstrous 
and  portentous.  Towering  structures  hewn  by  water 
and  wind  from  the  basalt  mass  of  the  island  rose  like 
colossi  along  the  entrance  to  the  bay ;  beyond,  a  glimpse 
of  great  black  battlements  framed  a  huge  crater. 


348  WHITE  SHADOWS 

A  dangerous  bay  in  the  lee  wind  with  a  bad  holding- 
ground.  We  manceuvered  for  ten  minutes  to  land,  but 
the  shelving  beach  of  black  stone  with  no  rim  of  sand 
proved  a  puzzle  even  to  Grelet.  We  reached  the  stones 
again  and  again,  only  to  be  torn  away  by  the  racing  tide. 
At  last  we  all  jumped  into  the  surf  and  swam  ashore, 
except  one  man  who  anchored  the  whale-boat  before  fol- 
lowing us. 

The  canoe  that  had  sounded  the  conch  off  Oomoa  was 
lying  on  the  shale,  and  those  who  had  come  in  it  were  on 
the  stones  cooking  breadfruit.  The  village,  half  a 
dozen  rude  straw  shacks,  stretched  along  a  rocky  stream. 
Beyond  it,  in  a  few  acres  enclosed  by  a  fence,  were  a 
tiny  church,  two  wretched  wooden  cabins,  a  tumbling 
kiosk,  five  or  six  old  men  and  women  squatting  on  the 
ground  amid  a  flock  of  dogs  and  cats.  This  was  the 
Catholic  mission,  tumbledown  and  decayed,  unpainted 
for  years,  overgrown  by  weeds,  marshy  and  muddy, 
passing  to  oblivion  like  the  race  to  which  it  ministered. 

Grelet  and  I  found  Pere  Olivier  sweeping  out  the 
church,  cheerful,  humming  a  cradle-song  of  the  French 
peasants.  He  was  glad  to  see  us,  though  my  companion 
was  avowedly  a  pagan.  Dwelling  alone  here  with  nis 
dying  charges,  the  good  priest  could  not  but  feel  a  com- 
mon bond  with  any  white  man,  whoever  he  might  be. 

The  kiosk,  to  which  he  took  us,  proved  to  be  Pere 
Olivier's  eating-place,  dingy,  tottering,  and  poverty- 
stricken,  furnished  with  a  few  cracked  and  broken 
dishes  and  rusty  knives  and  forks,  the  equipment  of  a 
miner  or  sheep-herder.  Pere  Olivier  apologized  for  the 
meager  fare,  but  we  did  well  enough,  with  soup  and  a 
tin  of  boiled  beef,  breadfruit,  and  feis.  The  soup  was 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  349 

of  a  red  vegetable,  not  appetizing,  and  I  could  not  make 
out  the  native  name  for  it,  hue  arahi,  until  Grelet  cried, 
"Ah,  j'ai  trouve  le  mot  anglais!  Ponkeen,  ponkeen!" 
It  was  a  red  pumpkin. 

"La  soupe  maigre  de  missionaire ,"  murmured  the 
priest. 

I  led  the  talk  to  the  work  of  the  mission. 

"We  have  been  here  thirty-five  years,"  said  Pere 
Olivier,  "and  I,  thirty.  Our  order  first  tried  to  estab- 
lish a  church  at  Oomoa,  but  failed.  You  have  seen  there 
a  stone  foundation  that  supports  the  wild  vanilla  vines? 
Frere  Fesal  built  that,  with  a  Raratonga  islander  who 
was  a  good  mason.  The  two  cut  the  stones  and  shaped 
them.  The  valley  of  Oomoa  was  drunk.  Rum  was 
everywhere,  the  palm  namu  was  being  made  all  the  time, 
and  few  people  were  ever  sober.  There  was  a  Hawaiian 
Protestant  missionary  there,  and  he  was  not  good  friends 
with  Frere  Fesal.  There  was  no  French  authority  at 
Oomoa,  and  the  strongest  man  was  the  law.  The 
whalers  were  worse  than  the  natives,  and  hated  the  mis- 
sionaries. One  day  when  the  valley  was  crazed,  a  native 
killed  the  Raratonga  man.  You  will  find  the  murderer 
living  on  Tahuata  now.  Frere  Fesal  buried  his  assist- 
ant, and  fled  here. 

"That  date  was  about  the  last  Hanavave  suffered 
from  cannibalism  and  extreme  sorcery.  The  taua,  the 
pagan  priest,  was  still  powerful,  however,  and  his  gods 
demanded  victims.  The  men  here  conspired  with  the 
men  of  Hanahouua  to  descend  on  Oi,  a  little  village  by 
the  sea  between  here  and  Oomoa.  They  had  guns  of  a 
sort,  for  the  whalers  had  brought  old  and  rusty  guns 
to  trade  with  the  Marquesans  for  wood,  fruit,  and  fish. 


350  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Frere  Fesal  learned  of  the  conspiracy,  but  the  men  were 
drinking  rum,  and  he  was  helpless.  The  warriors  went 
stealthily  over  the  mountains  and  at  night  lowered  them- 
selves from  the  cliffs  with  ropes  made  of  the  fau.  There 
were  only  thirty  people  left  in  Oi,  and  the  enemy  came 
upon  them  in  the  dark  like  the  wolf.  Only  one  man  es- 
caped—  There  he  is  now,  entering  the  mission.  We 
will  ask  him  to  tell  the  story." 

He  stood  in  the  rickety  doorway  and  called,  "Tutaiei, 
come  here!"  An  old  and  withered  man  approached, 
one-eyed,  the  wrinkles  of  his  face  and  body  abscuring 
the  blue  patterns  of  tattooing,  a  shrunken,  but  hideous, 
scar  making  a  hairless  patch  on  one  side  of  his  head. 

"I  was  on  the  beach  pulling  up  my  canoe  and  taking 
out  the  fish  I  had  speared,"  said  this  wreck  of  a  man. 
"Half  the  night  was  spent,  and  every  one  was  asleep 
except  me.  We  were  a  little  company,  for  they  had 
killed  and  eaten  most  of  us,  and  others  had  died  of  the 
white  man's  curse.  In  the  night  I  heard  the  cries  of 
the  Hanavave  and  Hanahouua  men  who  had  lowered 
themselves  down  the  precipice  and  were  using  their  war- 
clubs  on  the  sleeping. 

''I  was  one  man.  I  could  do  nothing  but  die,  and  I 
was  full  of  life.  In  the  darkness  I  smashed  with  a  rock 
all  the  canoes  on  the  beach  save  mine.  In  my  ears  were 
the  groans  of  the  dying,  and  the  war-cries.  I  saw  the 
torches  coming.  I  put  the  fish  back  in  my  canoe,  and 
pushed  out. 

"They  were  but  a  moment  late,  for  I  have  a  hole  in 
my  head  into  which  they  shot  a  nail,  and  I  have  this 
crack  in  my  head  upon  which  they  flung  a  stone.  They 
could  not  follow  me,  for  there  were  no  canoes  left.  I 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  351 

paddled  to  Oomoa  after  a  day,  during  which  I  did  what 
I  have  no  memory  of." 

"They  had  guns?"  I  asked  him. 

"They  had  a  few  guns,  but  they  used  in  them  nails  or 
stones,  having  no  balls  of  metal.  Their  slings  were 
worse.  I  could  sling  a  stone  as  big  as  a  mango  and 
kill  a  man,  striking  him  fair  on  the  head,  at  the  distance 
those  guns  would  shoot.  We  made  our  slings  of  the 
bark  of  the  cocoanut-tree,  and  the  stones,  polished  by 
rubbing  against  each  other,  we  carried  in  a  net  about  the 
waist." 

"But  if  that  stone  broke  your  head,  why  did  you  not 
die?" 

"A  tatihi  fixed  my  head.  The  nail  in  my  leg  he  took 
out  with  a  loop  of  hair,  and  cured  the  wound." 

"Did  you  not  lie  in  wait  for  those  murderers?" 

Tutaiei  hemmed  and  cast  down  his  eye. 

"The  French  came  then  with  soldiers  and  made  it  so 
that  if  I  killed  any  one,  they  killed  me ;  the  law,  they  call 
it.  They  did  nothing  to  those  warriors  because  the 
deed  was  done  before  the  French  came.  I  waited  and 
thought.  I  bought  a  gun  from  a  whaler.  But  the  time 
never  came. 

"All  my  people  had  died  at  their  hands.  Six  heads 
they  carried  back  to  feast  on  the  brains.  They  ate  the 
brains  of  my  wife.  I  kept  the  names  of  those  that  I 
should  kill.  There  was  Kiihakia,  who  slew  Moariniu, 
the  blind  man ;  Nakahania,  who  killed  Hakaie,  husband 
of  Tepeiu ;  Niana,  who  cut  off  the  head  of  Tahukea,  who 
was  their  daughter  and  my  woman ;  Veatetau  should  die 
for  Tahiahokaani,  who  was  young  and  beautiful,  who 
was  the  sister  of  my  woman.  I  waited  too  long,  for 


352  WHITE  SHADOWS 

time  took  them  all,  and  I  alone  survive  of  the  people  of 
Oi,  or  of  those  who  killed  them." 

"The  vendetta  between  valleys — called  umuhuke,  or 
the  Vengeance  of  the  Oven, — thus  wiped  out  the  peo- 
ple of  Oi,"  commented  Pere  Olivier.  "The  skulls  were 
kept  in  banian-trees,  or  in  the  houses.  Frere  Fesal 
started  the  mission  here  and  built  that  little  church. 
There  were  plenty  of  people  to  work  among.  But  now, 
after  thirty  years  I  have  been  here,  they  are  nearly  fin- 
ished. They  have  no  courage  to  go  on,  that  is  all. 
C'est  un  pays  sans  I'avenir.  The  family  of  the  dying 
never  weep.  They  gather  to  eat  the  feast  of  the  dead, 
and  the  crying  is  a  rite,  no  more.  These  people  are 
tired  of  life." 

It  was  Stevenson  who  though  that  "the  ending  of  the 
most  healthful,  if  not  the  most  humane,  of  field  sports — 
hedge  warfare — "  had  much  to  do  with  depopulation. 
Either  horn  of  the  dilemma  is  dangerous  to  touch.  It 
is  unthinkable,  perhaps,  that  white  conquerors  should 
have  allowed  the  Marquesans  to  follow  their  own  cus- 
toms of  warfare.  But  changes  in  the  customs  of  every 
race  must  come  from  within  that  race  or  they  will  de- 
stroy it.  The  essence  of  life  is  freedom. 

Any  one  who  has  read  their  past  and  knows  them  now 
must  admit  that  the  Marquesans  have  not  been  im- 
proved in  morality  by  their  contact  with  the  whites. 
Alien  customs  have  been  forced  upon  them.  And  they 
are  dying  for  lack  of  expression,  nationally  and  indi- 
vidually. Disease,  of  course,  is  the  weapon  that  kills 
them,  but  it  finds  its  victims  unguarded  by  hope  or  de- 
sire to  live,  willing  to  meet  death  half  way,  the  grave  a 
haven. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  353 

In  the  old  days  this  island  of  Fatu-hiva  was  the  art 
center  of  the  Marquesas.  The  fame  of  its  tattooers, 
carvers  in  wood  and  stone,  makers  of  canoes,  paddles, 
and  war-clubs,  had  resounded  through  the  archipelago 
for  centuries.  Now  it  is  one  of  the  few  places  where 
even  a  feeble  survival  of  those  industries  give  the  new- 
comers a  glimpse  of  their  methods  and  ideals  now  sink- 
ing, like  their  originators,  in  the  mire  of  wretchedness. 

Outside  the  mission  gates,  in  the  edge  of  the  jungle, 
Pere  Olivier  and  I  came  upon  two  old  women  making 
tapa  cloth.  Shrunken  with  age,  toothless,  decrepit, 
their  only  covering  the  ragged  and  faded  pareus  that 
spoke  of  poverty,  they  sat  in  the  shade  of  a  banian-tree, 
beating  the  fibrous  inner  bark  of  the  breadfruit-tree. 
Over  the  hollow  log  that  resounded  with  the  blows  of 
their  wooden  mallets  the  cloth  moved  slowly,  doubling 
on  the  ground  into  a  heap  of  silken  texture,  firm,  thin, 
and  soft. 

This  paper-cloth  was  once  made  throughout  all  the 
South  Sea  Islands.  Breadfruit,  banian,  mulberry,  and 
other  barks  furnished  the  fiber.  The  outer  rough  bark 
was  scraped  off  with  a  shell,  and  the  inner  rind  slightly 
beaten  and  allowed  to  ferment.  It  was  then  beaten 
over  a  tree-trunk  with  mallets  of  iron-wood  about 
eighteen  inches  long,  grooved  coarsely  on  one  side  and 
more  finely  on  the  other.  The  fibers  were  so  closely 
interwoven  by  this  beating  that  in  the  finished  cloth 
one  could  not  guess  the  process  of  making.  When 
finished,  the  fabric  was  bleached  in  the  sun  to  a  dazzling 
white,  and  from  it  the  Marquesans  of  old  wrought  won- 
drous garments. 

For  their  caps  they  made  remarkably  fine  textures, 


354  WHITE  SHADOWS 

open-meshed,  filmy  as  gauze,  which  confined  their 
abundant  black  hair,  and  to  which  were  added  flowers, 
either  natural  or  beautifully  preserved  in  wax.  Their 
principal  garment,  the  cahu,  was  a  long  and  flowing 
piece  of  the  paper-cloth,  of  firmer  texture,  dyed  in  bril- 
liant colors,  or  of  white  adorned  with  tasteful  patterns. 
This  hung  from  the  shoulders,  where  it  was  knotted  on 
one  shoulder,  leaving  one  arm  and  part  of  the  breast 
exposed.  Much  individual  taste  was  expressed  in  the 
wearing  of  this  garment ;  sometimes  the  knot  was  on  one 
shoulder,  sometimes  on  the  other,  or  it  might  be  brought 
low  on  the  chest,  leaving  the  shoulders  and  arms  bare,  or 
thrown  behind  to  expose  the  charms  of  a  well-formed 
back  or  a  slender  waist.  Beneath  it  they  wore  a  pareu, 
which  passed  twice  around  the  waist  and  hung  to  the 
calves  of  the  legs. 

Clean  and  neat  as  these  garments  always  were,  shin- 
ing in  the  sun,  leaving  the  body  free  to  know  the  joys 
of  sun  and  air  and  swift,  easy  motion,  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  imagine  a  more  graceful,  beautiful,  modest,  and 
comfortable  manner  of  dressing. 

For  dyeing  these  garments  in  all  the  hues  that  fancy 
dictated,  the  women  used  the  juices  of  herb  and  tree. 
Candlenut-bark  gave  a  rich  chocolate  hue;  scarlet  was 
obtained  from  the  ma&'-berries  mixed  with  the  leaves  of 
the  tou.  Yellow  came  from  the  inner  bark  of  the  root 
of  the  morinda  citrifolia.  Hibiscus  flowers  or  delicate 
ferns  were  dipped  in  these  colors  and  impressed  on  the 
tapas  in  elegant  designs. 

The  garments  were  virtually  indestructible.  Did  a 
dress  need  repairing,  the  edges  of  the  rent  were  mois- 
tened and  beaten  together,  or  a  handful  of  fiber  was 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  355 

beaten  in  as  a  patch.  Often  for  fishermen  the  tapas 
were  made  water-proof  by  added  thicknesses  and  the 
employment  of  gums,  and  waterproof  cloth  for  wrap- 
pings was  made  thick  and  impervious  to  rain  as  the  oil- 
cloth it  resembled. 

Hardly  one  of  these  garments  survives  in  the  Mar- 
quesas to-day.  They  have  been  driven  out  by  the  gaudy 
prints  of  Germany  and  England  brought  by  the  traders, 
and  by  the  ideas  of  dress  which  the  missionaries  imported 
together  with  the  barrels  of  hideous  night-gown  gar- 
ments contributed  by  worthy  ladies  of  American  vil- 
lages. 

The  disappearance  of  these  native  garments  brought 
two  things,  idleness  and  the  rapid  spread  of  tuberculosis. 
The  tapa  cloth  could  not  be  worn  in  the  water  or  the 
rain,  as  it  disintegrated.  Marquesans  therefore  left 
their  robes  in  the  house  when  they  went  abroad  in  stormy 
weather  or  bathed  in  the  sea.  But  in  their  new  calicos 
and  ginghams  they  walked  in  the  rain,  bathed  in  the 
rivers,  and  returned  to  sleep  huddled  in  the  wet  folds, 
ignorant  of  the  danger. 

As  the  tapa  disappeared,  so  did  the  beautiful  carv- 
ings of  canoes  and  paddles  and  clubs,  superseded  by  the 
cheaper,  machine-made  articles  of  the  whites.  Little 
was  left  to  occupy  the  hands  or  minds  of  the  islanders, 
who,  their  old  merrymakings  stopped,  their  wars  for- 
bidden, their  industry  taken  from  them,  could  only  sit 
on  their  paepaes  yawning  like  children  in  jail  and  wait- 
ing for  the  death  that  soon  came. 

The  Marquesans  never  made  a  pot.  They  had  clay 
in  their  soil,  as  Gauguin  proved  by  using  it  for  his  model- 
ing, but  they  had  no  need  of  pottery,  using  exclusively 


356  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  gourds  from  the  vines,  wooden  vessels  hollowed  out, 
and  temporary  cups  of  leaves. 

This  absence  of  pottery  is  another  proof  of  the 
lengthy  isolation  of  the  islands.  The  Tongans  had 
earthen  ware  which  they  learned  to  make  from  the 
Fijians,  but  the  Polynesians  had  left  the  mainland  be- 
fore the  beginning  of  this  art.  Thus  they  remained  a 
people  who  were,  despite  their  startling  advances  in 
many  lines,  the  least  encumbered  by  useful  inventions  of 
any  race  in  the  world. 

Until  hardly  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago  the  na- 
tives were  like  our  forefathers  who  lived  millenniums  ago 
in  Europe.  But  being  in  a  gentler  climate,  they  were 
gentler,  happier,  merrier,  and  far  cleaner.  One  can 
hardly  dwell  in  a  spirit  of  filial  devotion  upon  the  rela- 
tion of  our  forefathers  to  soap  and  water,  but  these  Mar- 
quesans  bathed  several  times  daily  in  dulcet  streams  and 
found  soap  and  emollients  to  hand. 

It  was  curious  to  me  to  reflect,  while  Pere  Olivier  and 
I  stood  watching  the  two  aged  crones  beating  out  the 
tapa  cloth,  upon  what  slender  chance  hung  the  differ- 
ence between  us.  Far  in  the  remote  mists  of  time,  when 
a  tribe  set  out  upon  its  wanderings  from  the  home  land, 
one  man,  perhaps,  hesitated,  dimly  felt  the  dangers  and 
uncertainties  before  it,  weighed  the  advantages  of  re- 
maining behind,  and  did  not  go.  Had  he  gone,  I  or 
any  one  of  Caucasian  blood  in  the  world  to-day,  might 
have  been  a  Marquesan. 

It  would  be  interesting,  I  thought,  to  consider  what 
the  hundred  thousand  years  that  have  passed  since  that 
day  have  given  us  of  joy,  of  wealth  of  mind  and  soul 
and  body,  of  real  value  in  customs  and  manners  and  at- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  B57 

titude  toward  life,  compared  to  what  would  have  been 
our  portion  in  the  islands  of  the  South  Seas  before  his 
white  cousin  fell  upon  the  Marquesan. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Fishing  in  Hanavave;  a  deep-sea  battle  with  a  shark;  Red  Chicken  shows 
how  to  tie  ropes  to  shark's  tails;  night-fishing  for  dolphins,  and  the 
monster  sword-fish  that  overturned  the  canoe;  the  native  doctor  dresses 
Red  Chicken's  wounds  and  discourses  on  medicine. 

GRELET  returned  to  Oomoa  in  the  whale-boat, 
but  I  remained  in  Hanavave  for  the  fishing. 
My  presence  had  stimulated  the  waning  in- 
terest of  the  few  remaining  Marquesans,  and  the  hand- 
ful of  young  men  and  women  went  with  me  often  to 
the  sea  outside  the  Bay  of  Virgins,  where  we  lay  in  the 
blazing  sunshine  having  great  sport  with  spear  or  hook 
and  line. 

We  speared  a  dozen  kinds  of  fish,  specially  the  cuttle- 
fish and  sunfish,  the  latter  more  for  fun  and  practice 
than  food.  They  are  huge  masses,  these  pig-like,  tail- 
less clowns  among  the  graceful  families  of  the  ocean, 
with  their  small  mouths  and  clumsy-looking  bodies,  but 
they  made  a  fine  target  at  which  to  launch  harpoon  or 
spear  from  the  dancing  bow  of  a  canoe.  Keeping  one's 
balance  is  the  finest  art  of  the  Marquesan  fisherman,  and 
he  will  stand  firm  while  the  boat  rises  and  falls,  rolls 
and  pitches,  his  body  swaying  and  balancing  with  the 
nice  adjustment  that  is  second  nature  to  him.  It  is  an 
art  that  should  be  learned  in  childhood.  Many  were 
the  splashes  into  the  salt  sea  that  fell  to  my  lot  as  I 
practised  it,  one  moment  standing  alert  with  poised 
spear  in  the  sunlight,  the  next  overwhelmed  with  the 
green  water,  and  striking  out  on  the  surface  again  amid 

358 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  359 

the  joyous,  unridiculing  laughter  of  my  merry  com- 
panions. 

Wearying  of  the  spear,  we  trolled  for  swordfish  with 
hook  and  line,  or  used  the  baitless  hook  to  entice  the 
sportful  albicore,  or  dolphin,  whose  curving  black  bodies 
splashed  the  sea  about  us.  A  piece  of  mother-of-pearl 
about  six  inches  long  and  three-quarters  of  an  inch  wide 
was  the  lure  for  him.  Carefully  cut  and  polished  to  re- 
semble the  body  of  a  fish,  there  was  attached  to  it  on  the 
concave  side  a  barb  of  shell  or  bone  about  an  inch  or  an 
inch  and  a  half  in  length,  fastened  by  faufee  fiber,  with 
a  few  hog's  bristles  inserted.  The  line  was  drove 
through  the  hole  where  the  barb  was  fastened  and,  being 
braided  along  the  inner  side  of  the  pearl  shank,  was  tied 
again  at  the  top,  forming  a  chord  to  the  arch.  Thus 
when  the  beguiled  dolphin  took  the  hook  and  strained 
the  line,  he  secured  himself  more  firmly  on  the  barb. 

This  is  the  best  fish-hook,  as  it  is  perhaps  the  oldest, 
ever  invented,  and  I  have  found  it  in  many  parts  of  the 
South  Seas,  but  never  more  artfully  made  than  here  on 
Hanavave.  It  needs  no  bait,  and  is  a  fascinating  sight 
for  the  big  fish,  who  hardly  ever  discover  the  fraud  until 
too  late. 

The  line  was  attached  to  a  bamboo  cane  about  fifteen 
feet  long,  and  standing  in  the  stern  of  the  canoe,  I 
handled  this  rod,  allowing  the  hook  to  touch  the  water, 
but  not  to  sink.  Behind  me  my  companions,  in  their 
red  and  yellow  pareus,  pushed  the  boat  through  the 
water  with  gentle  strokes  of  their  oars.  When  I  saw  a 
fish  approaching,  they  became  active,  the  canoe  raced 
across  the  sparkling  sea,  and  the  hook,  as  it  skimmed 
along  the  surface,  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  flying 


360  WHITE  SHADOWS 

fish,  the  bristles  simulating  the  tail.  Soon  the  hasten- 
ing dolphin  fell  upon  it,  and  then  became  the  tug-of-war, 
bamboo  pole  straining  and  bending,  the  line  now  taut, 
now  relaxing,  as  the  fish  lunged,  and  the  paddlers  watch- 
ing with  cries  of  excitement  until  he  was  hauled  over 
the  side,  wet  and  flopping,  a  feast  for  half  a  dozen. 

One  never-to-be-forgotten  afternoon  we  ran  unex- 
pectedly upon  a  whole  school  of  dolphins  a  few  miles 
outside  the  bay,  and  before  the  sun  sank  I  had  brought 
from  the  sea  twenty-six  large  fish.  Some  of  these  were 
magnificent  food-fish,  weighing  150  to  200  pounds. 
We  had  to  send  for  two  canoes  to  help  bring  in  this 
miraculous  draught,  and  all  the  population  of  the  valley 
rejoiced  in  the  supply  of  fresh  and  appetizing  food. 

The  Marquesan  methods  of  fishing  are  not  so  varied 
to-day  as  when  their  valleys  were  filled  with  a  happy 
people  delighting  in  all  forms  of  exercise  and  prowess 
and  needing  the  fish  to  supplement  a  scanty  diet.  For 
many  weeks  before  I  came,  they  said,  no  man  had  gone 
fishing.  There  were  so  few  natives  that  the  trees  sup- 
plied them  all  with  enough  to  eat,  and  the  melancholy 
Marquesan  preferred  to  sit  and  meditate  upon  his 
paepae  rather  than  to  fish,  except  when  appetite  de- 
manded it.  There  is  a  Polynesian  word  that  means 
"hungry  for  fish,"  •'and  to-day  it  is  only  when  this  word 
rises  to  their  tongues  or  thoughts  that  they  go  eagerly 
to  the  sea  or  to  the  tooth-like  base  of  the  cliffs. 

Often  we  took  large  quantities  of  fish  among  these 
caves  and  rocks  by  capturing  them  in  bags,  using  a 
wooden  fan  as  a  weapon.  The  sport  called  for  a  cool 
head,  marvelous  lungs,  and  skill.  It  was  extremely 
dangerous,  as  the  sharks  were  numerous  where  fish  were 


Pascual,  the  giant  Paumotan  pilot  and  his  friends 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  361 

plentiful,  and  the  angler  must  needs  be  under  the  water, 
in  the  shark's  own  domain. 

The  best  hand  and  head  for  this  sport  in  all  Hanavave 
was  a  girl,  Kikaaki,  a  name  which  means  Miss  Impossi- 
bility. She  was  not  handsome,  save  with  the  beauty  of 
youth  and  abounding  health,  but  her  wide  mouth  and 
bright  eyes  were  intelligent  and  laughter-loving. 

Starting  early  in  the  morning,  we  would  go  to  the 
edge  of  the  bay,  where  the  coral  rises  from  the  ocean 
floor  in  fantastic  shapes  and  builds  strange  grottoes  and 
cells  at  the  feet  of  the  basalt  rocks.  While  I  held  the 
canoe,  Miss  Impossibility  would  remove  her  shapeless 
calico  wrapper,  and  attired  only  in  scarlet  pareu,  her  hair 
piled  high  on  her  head  and  tied  with  the  white  filet  of  the 
cocoanut-palm,  she  would  go  overboard  in  one  curving 
dive,  a  dozen  feet  or  more  beneath  the  sea. 

When  the  water  was  quiet  and  shadowed  by  the  cliffs, 
I  could  see  her  through  its  green  translucence,  swim- 
ming to  the  coral  lairs  of  the  fish  that  gleamed  in  the 
reflected,  penetrating  sunlight.  Walking  on  the  sandy 
bottom,  a  hand  net  of  straw  in  one  hand,  and  a  stick 
shaped  like  a  fan  in  the  other,  she  would  cover  a  crevice 
with  the  net  and  with  the  fan  urge  the  fish  into  it. 

Foolish  as  was  their  conduct,  the  fish  appeared  to  be 
deceived  by  the  lure,  or  made  helpless  by  fear,  for  they 
streamed  into  the  receptacle  as  Miss  Impossibility  beat 
the  water  or  the  coral.  She  would  have  seemed  to  me 
well  named  had  I  never  seen  her  at  the  sport. 

She  would  usually  stay  beneath  the  water  a  couple  of 
minutes,  rising  with  her  catch  to  rest  for  a  moment  or 
two  with  her  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  boat,  breathing 
deeply,  before  she  went  down  again.  Losing  sight  of 


362  WHITE  SHADOWS 

her  among  the  under-water  caves  one  day,  I  waited  for 
what  seemed  an  eternity.  I  cannot  say  how  long  she 
was  gone,  for  as  the  time  lengthened  seconds  became 
minutes  and  hours,  while  I  was  torn  between  diving 
after  her  and  remaining  ready  for  emergency  in  the 
boat.  When  at  last  she  came  to  the  surface,  she  was 
nearly  dead  with  exhaustion,  and  I  had  to  lift  her  into 
the  canoe.  She  said  her  hair  had  been  caugLL  in  the 
branching  coral,  and  that  she  had  been  barely  able  to 
wrench  it  free  before  her  strength  was  gone. 

I  went  down  with  her  several  times,  but  could  not 
master  the  art  of  entrapping  the  fish,  and  was  overcome 
with  fear  when  I  had  entered  one  of  the  dark  caves  and 
heard  a  terrible  splashing  nearby,  as  if  a  shark  had 
struck  the  coral  in  attempting  to  enter  my  hazardous 
refuge. 

Even  Miss  Impossibility  had  not  the  courage  to  face 
a  shark ;  yet  every  time  she  dived  she  risked  meeting  one. 
Red  Chicken  had  killed  one  at  this  very  spot  a  few 
weeks  earlier.  The  danger  even  to  a  man  armed  with  a 
knife  was  that  the  shark  would  obstruct  from  a  cave,  or 
come  upon  him  suddenly  from  behind. 

Often  we  had  with  us  in  the  fishing  a  Paumotan,  Pas- 
cual,  the  pilot  of  the  ship  Zelee,  who  was  in  Hanavave 
visiting  a  relative.  He  was  the  very  highest  physical 
and  mental  type  of  the  Paumotan,  a  honey-comb  of 
good-nature,  a  well  of  laughter,  and  a  seaman  beyond 
compare.  To  be  a  pilot  in  the  Isles  of  the  Labyrinth 
demands  many  strong  qualities,  but  to  be  the  pilot  of 
the  only  warship  in  this  sea  was  the  very  summit  of 
pilotry.  He  had  an  accurate  knowledge  of  forty  har- 
bors and  anchorages,  and  spoke  English  fluently, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  363 

French,  Paumotan,  Tahitian,  Marquesan,  and  other 
Polynesian  tongues.  From  boyhood  until  he  took  up 
pilotage  he  was  a  diver  in  the  lagoons  for  shell  and  in 
harbors  for  the  repair  of  ships. 

"I  have  killed  many  sharks,"  he  said,  "and  have  all 
but  fed  them  more  than  once.  I  had  gone  one  morn- 
ing a  hundred  feet.  The  water  is  always  colder  below 
the  surface,  and  I  shivered  as  I  pulled  at  a  pair  of  big 
shells  under  a  ledge.  It  was  dark  in  the  cavern,  and  I 
was  both  busy  and  cold,  so  that  as  I  stooped  I  did  not 
see  a  shark  that  came  from  behind,  until  he  plumped 
into  my  spine. 

"I  turned  as  he  made  his  reverse  to  bite  me,  and 
passed  under  him,  out  to  better  light.  I  knew  I  had  but 
a  second  or  two  to  fight.  I  seized  his  tail  quickly,  and 
as  he  swept  around  to  free  himself  I  had  time  to  draw 
the  knife  from  my  pareu  and  stab  him.  He  passed 
over  me  again,  and  this  time  his  teeth  entered  my  shoul- 
der, here — "  He  opened  his  shirt  and  showed  me  a 
long,  livid  scar,  serrated,  the  hall-mark  of  a  fighter  of 
mako. 

"But  by  fortune — you  may  be  sure  I  called  on  God — 
I  got  my  knife  home  again,  and  sprang  up  for  the  air, 
feeling  him  in  the  water  behind  me.  Twice  I  drove  the 
blade  into  him  on  the  way,  for  he  would  not  let  me  go. 
My  friend  in  the  canoe,  who  saw  the  struggle,  jumped 
down  to  my  aid,  and  being  fresh  from  the  air,  he  cut  that 
devil  to  pieces.  I  was  not  too  strong  when  I  reached 
the  outrigger  and  hung  my  weight  upon  it.  We  ate  the 
liver  of  that  mako,  and  damned  him  as  we  ate.  I  had 
fought  him  from  the  ledge  upward  at  least  eighty  feet  of 
the  hundred." 


364  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"Auet"  said  Red  Chicken,  hearing  me  exclaim  at  the 
tale.  "You  have  never  seen  a  man  fight  the  mako? 
Epo!  To-morrow  we  shall  show  you." 

On  the  following  day  when  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  several  of  us  went  in  a  canoe  to  a  place  be- 
neath the  cliffs  haunted  by  the  sharks,  and  there  pre- 
pared to  snare  one.  A  rope  of  hibiscus  was  made  fast 
to  a  jagged  crag,  and  a  noose  at  the  other  end  was  held 
by  Red  Chicken,  who  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  great 
boulder  eagerly  watching  while  others  strewed  pig's  en- 
trails in  the  water  to  entice  a  victim  from  the  dark  caves. 

At  length  a  long  gray  shape  slid  from  the  shadows 
and  wavered  below  our  feet.  Instantly  Red  Chicken 
slipped  from  the  rock,  slid  noiselessly  beneath  the  water, 
and  slipped  the  noose  over  the  shark's  tail  before  it 
knew  that  he  was  nearby.  The  others,  whose  hands 
were  on  the  rope,  tightened  it  on  the  instant,  and  with  a 
yell  of  triumph  hauled  the  lashing,  fighting  demon  upon 
the  rocks,  where  he  struggled  gasping  until  he  died. 

There  was  still  another  way  of  catching  sharks,  Red 
Chicken  said,  and  being  now  excited  with  the  sport  and 
eager  to  show  his  skill,  he  insisted  upon  displaying  it 
for  my  benefit,  though  I,  who  find  small  pleasure  in 
vicarious  danger,  would  have  dissuaded  him.  For  this 
exploit  we  must  row  to  the  coral  caves,  where  the  man- 
eating  fish  stay  often  lying  lazily  in  the  grottoes,  only 
their  heads  protruding  into  the  sun-lit  water. 

Here  we  maneuvered  until  the  long,  evil-looking 
snout  was  seen ;  then  Red  Chicken  went  quietly  over  the 
side  of  the  canoe,  descended  beside  the  shark  and  tapped 
him  sharply  on  the  head.  The  fish  turned  swiftly  to  see 
what  teased  him,  and  in  the  same  split-second  of  time, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  365 

over  his  fluke  went  the  noose,  and  Red  Chicken  was  up 
and  away,  while  his  companions  on  a  nearby  cliff  pulled 
in  the  rope  and  killed  the  shark  with  spears  in  shallow 
water.  Red  Chicken  said  that  he  had  learned  this  art 
from  a  Samoan,  whose  people  were  cleverer  killers  of 
sharks  than  the  Marquesans.  It  could  be  done  only 
when  the  shark  was  full-fed,  satisfied,  and  lazy. 

I  had  seen  the  impossible,  but  I  was  to  hear  a  thing 
positively  incredible.  While  Red  Chicken  sat  breath- 
ing deeply  in  the  canoe,  filled  with  pride  at  my  praises, 
and  the  others  were  contriving  means  of  carrying  home 
the  shark  meat,  I  observed  a  number  of  fish  swimming 
around  and  through  the  coral  caves,  and  jumped  to  the 
conclusion  that  from  their  presence  Red  Chicken  had 
deduced  the  well-filled  stomachs  and  thoroughly  satis- 
fied appetite  of  the  shark.  Red  Chicken  replied,  how- 
ever, that  they  were  a  fish  never  eaten  by  sharks,  and 
offered  an  explanation  to  which  I  listened  politely,  but 
with  absolute  unbelief.  Imagine  with  what  surprise  I 
found  Red  Chicken's  tale  repeated  in  a  book  that  I  read 
some  time  later  when  I  had  returned  to  libraries. 

There  is  a  fish,  the  Diodon  antennatus,  that  gets  the  better 
of  the  shark  in  a  curious  manner.  He  can  blow  himself  up  by 
taking  in  air  and  water,  until  he  becomes  a  bloated  wretch  in- 
stead of  the  fairly  decent  thing  he  is  in  his  normal  moments. 
He  can  bite,  he  can  make  a  noise  with  his  jaws,  and  can  eject 
water  from  his  mouth  to  some  distance.  Besides  all  this,  he 
erects  papillae  on  his  skin  like  thorns,  and  secretes  in  the  skin 
of  his  belly  a  carmine  fluid  that  makes  a  permanent  stain. 
Despite  all  these  defences,  if  the  shark  is  fool  enough  to  heed 
no  warning  and  to  eat  Diodon,  the  latter  puffs  himself  up  and 
eats  his  way  clean  through  the  shark  to  liberty,  leaving  the 
shark  riddled  and  leaky,  and,  indeed,  dead. 


366  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Should  this  still  be  doubted,  my  new  authority  is 
Charles  Darwin. 

After  his  display  of  skill  and  daring — and,  as  I 
thought,  vivid  imagination — Red  Chicken  became  my 
special  friend  and  guide,  and  on  one  occasion  it  was  our 
being  together,  perhaps,  saved  his  life,  and  afforded  me 
one  of  the  most  thrilling  moments  of  my  own. 

He  and  I  had  gone  in  a  canoe  after  nightfall  to  spear 
fish  outside  the  Bay  of  Virgins.  Night  fishing  has  its 
attractions  in  these  tropics,  if  only  for  the  freedom  from 
severe  heat,  the  glory  of  the  moonlight  or  starlight,  and 
the  waking  dreams  that  come  to  one  upon  the  sea,  when 
the  canoe  rests  tranquil,  the  torch  blazes,  and  the  fish 
swim  to  meet  the  harpoon.  The  night  was  moonless, 
but  the  sea  was  covered  with  phosphorescence,  some- 
times a  glittering  expanse  of  light,  and  again  black  as 
velvet  except  where  our  canoe  moved  gently  through  a 
soft  and  glamorous  surface  of  sparkling  jewels.  A 
night  for  a  lover,  a  lady,  and  a  lute. 

Our  torch  of  cocoanut-husks  and  reeds,  seven  feet 
high,  was  fixed  at  the  prow,  so  that  it  could  be  lifted  up 
when  needed  to  attract  the  fish  or  better  to  light  the 
canoe.  Red  Chicken,  in  a  scarlet  pareu  fastened  tightly 
about  his  loins,  stood  at  the  prow  when  we  had  reached 
his  favorite  spot  off  a  point  of  land,  while  I,  with  a 
paddle,  noiselessly  kept  the  canoe  as  stationary  as  pos- 
sible. 

Light  is  a  lure  for  many  creatures  of  land  and  sea  and 
sky.  The  moth  and  the  bat  whirl  about  a  flame;  the 
sea-bird  dashes  its  body  against  the  bright  glass  of  the 
lonely  tower ;  wild  deer  come  to  see  what  has  disturbed 
the  dark  of  the  forest,  and  fish  of  different  kinds  leap  at 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  367 

a  torch.  Red  Chicken  put  a  match  to  ours  when  we 
were  all  in  readiness.  The  brilliant  gleam  cleft  the 
darkness  and  sent  across  the  blackness  of  the  water  a 
beam  that  was  a  challenge  to  the  curiosity  of  the  dozing 
fish.  They  hastened  toward  us,  and  Red  Chicken  made 
meat  of  those  who  came  within  the  radius  of  his  harpoon, 
so  that  within  an  hour  or  two  our  canoe  was  heaped  with 
half  a  dozen  kinds. 

Far  off  in  the  path  of  the  flambeau  rays  I  saw  the 
swordfish  leaping  as  they  pursued  small  fish  or  gamboled 
for  sheer  joy  in  the  luminous  air.  They  seemed  to  be  in 
pairs.  I  watched  them  lazily,  with  academic  interest  in 
their  movements,  until  suddenly  one  rose  a  hundred  feet 
away,  and  in  his  idle  caper  in  the  air  I  saw  a  bulk  so 
immense  and  a  sword  of  such  amazing  size  that  the 
thought  of  danger  struck  me  dumb. 

He  was  twenty-five  feet  in  length,  and  had  a  dorsal 
fin  that  stood  up  like  the  sail  of  a  small  boat.  But  even 
these  dimensions  cannot  convey  the  feeling  of  alarm 
his  presence  gave  me.  His  next  leap  brought  him 
within  forty  feet  of  us.  I  recalled  a  score  of  accidents  I 
had  seen,  read,  and  heard  of;  fishermen  stabbed,  boats 
rent,  steel-clad  ships  pierced  through  and  through. 

Red  Chicken  held  the  torch  to  observe  him  better, 
and  shouted: 

"Apau!    Look  out!     Paddle  fast  away!" 

I  needed  no  urging.  I  dug  into  the  glowing  water 
madly,  and  the  sound  of  my  paddle  on  the  side  of  the 
canoe  might  have  been  heard  half  a  mile  away.  It 
served  no  purpose.  Suddenly  half  a  dozen  of  the 
swordfish  began  jumping  about  us,  as  if  stirred  to  anger 
by  our  torch.  I  called  to  Red  Chicken  to  extinguish  it. 


368  WHITE  SHADOWS 

He  had  seized  it  to  obey  when  I  heard  a  splash  and 
the  canoe  received  a  terrific'  shock.  A  tremendous  bulk 
fell  upon  it.  With  a  sudden  swing  I  was  hurled  into 
the  air  and  fell  twenty  feet  away.  In  the  water  I  heard 
a  swish,  and  glimpsed  the  giant  espadon  as  he  leaped 
again. 

I  was  unhurt,  but  feared  for  Red  Chicken.  He  had 
cried  out  as  the  canoe  went  under,  but  I  found  him  by 
the  outrigger,  trying  to  right  the  craft.  Together  we 
succeeded,  and  when  I  had  ousted  some  of  the  water, 
Red  Chicken  crawled  in. 

"Papaoufaa!  I  am  wounded  slightly,"  he  said,  as  I 
assisted  him.  "The  Spear  of  the  Sea  has  thrust  me 
through." 

The  torch  was  lost,  but  I  felt  a  big  hole  in  the  calf 
of  his  right  leg.  Blood  was  pouring  from  the  wound. 
I  made  a  tourniquet  of  a  strip  of  my  pareu  and,  with  a 
small  harpoon,  twisted  it  until  the  flow  of  blood  was 
stopped.  Then,  guided  by  him,  I  paddled  as  fast  as  I 
could  to  the  beach,  on  which  there  was  little  trouble  in 
landing  as  the  bay  was  smooth. 

Red  Chicken  did  not  utter  a  complaint  from  the  mo- 
ment of  his  first  outcry,  and  when  I  roused  others  and  he 
was  carried  to  his  house,  he  took  the  pipe  handed  him 
and  smoked  quietly. 

"The  Aavehie  was  against  him,"  said  an  old  man. 
Aavehie  is  the  god  of  fishermen,  who  was  always  propi- 
tiated by  intending  anglers  in  the  polytheistic  days,  and 
who  still  had  power. 

There  was  no  white  doctor  on  the  island,  nor  had 
there  been  one  for  many  years.  There  was  nothing  to 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  369 

do  but  call  the  tatihi,  or  native  doctor,  an  aged  and 
shriveled  man  whose  whole  body  was  an  intricate  pat- 
tern of  tattooing  and  wrinkles.  He  came  at  once,  and 
with  his  claw-like  hands  cleverly  drew  together  the  edges 
of  Red  Chicken's  wound  and  gummed  them  in  place 
with  the  juice  of  the  ape,  a  bulbous  plant  like  the  edible 
taro.  Red  Chicken  must  have  suffered  keenly,  for  the 
ape  juice  is  exceedingly  caustic,  but  he  made  no  protest, 
continuing  to  puff  the  pipe.  Over  the  wound  the  tatihi 
applied  a  leaf,  and  bound  the  whole  very  carefully  with 
a  bandage  of  tapa  cloth  folded  in  surgical  fashion. 

About  the  mat  on  which  Red  Chicken  lay  the  elders 
of  the  village  congregated  in  the  morning  to  discuss  the 
accident  and  tell  tales  while  the  pipe  circulated.  One 
had  seen  his  friend  pierced  through  the  chest  by  a  sword- 
fish  and  instantly  killed.  Numerous  incidents  of  their 
canoes  being  sunk  by  these  savage  Spears  of  the  Sea 
were  recited  by  the  wise  men  who,  with  no  books  to 
bother  them  or  written  records  to  dull  their  memories, 
preserved  the  most  minute  recollections  of  important 
events  of  the  past. 

For  my  part,  on  the  subject  of  the  demoniacal  work 
of  the  swordfish,  I  regaled  them  with  accounts  of  dam- 
age wrought  to  big  ships;  of  how  a  bony  sword  had 
penetrated  the  hull  of  the  Fortune,  of  Plymouth,  cut- 
ting through  copper,  an  inch  of  under-sheathing,  a  three- 
inch  plank  of  hard  wood,  twelve  inches  of  solid,  white- 
oak  timber,  two  and  a  half  inches  of  hard  oak  ceiling, 
and  the  head  of  an  oil  cask ;  of  the  sloop  Morning  Star, 
which  had  to  be  convoyed  to  port  with  a  leak  through  a 
hole  in  eight  and  a  half  inches  of  white  oak;  of  the 


370  WHITE  SHADOWS 

United  States  Fish  Commission  sloop,  Red  Hot, 
rammed  and  sunk;  of  the  British  dreadnaught,  which 
was  pumped  to  Colombo  where  the  leak  made  by  the  fish 
was  found,  and  15,000  francs  insurance  paid. 

"Our  fathers  never  went  fishing  until  they  had  im- 
plored the  favor  of  the  gods,"  said  Red  Chicken.  "I  am 
a  Catholic,  but  it  may  be  the  sea  is  so  old,  older  than 
Christ,  that  the  devils  there  obey  the  old  gods  we  used 
to  worship.  If  that  largest  Spear  of  the  Sea  that  we 
saw  had  attacked  me  or  our  boat,  he  would  have  killed 
us  and  sunk  the  canoe,  for  he  was  four  fathoms  long, 
and  his  weapon  was  as  tall  as  I  am." 

The  tatihi  nodded  his  head  gravely.  His  soul  was 
still  in  the  keeping  of  the  gods  of  his  fathers,  and  he 
saw  in  Red  Chicken's  wound  the  vengeance  of  the  un- 
appeased  Aavehie. 

I  was  amazed  to  find  that  Red  Chicken  had  no  fever, 
and  was  recovering  rapidly.  Without  modern  medicine 
or  knowledge  of  it,  the  tatihi  had  healed  the  sufferer, 
and  I  drew  him  on  to  talk  of  his  skill. 

His  surgical  knowledge  was  excellent;  he  knew  the 
location  of  the  vital  organs  quite  accurately  from  fre- 
quent cutting  up  of  bodies  for  eating.  He  had  treated 
successfully  broken  bones,  spear-wounds  through  the 
body,  holes  knocked  in  skulls  by  the  vicious,  egg-sized 
sling-stones.  If  the  skull  was  merely  cracked,  with  no 
smashing  of  the  bone,  he  drilled  holes  at  the  end  of  each 
crack  to  prevent  further  cleavage  and,  replacing  the 
skin  he  had  folded  back,  bound  the  head  with  cooling 
leaves  and  left  nature  to  cure  the  break.  If  there  was 
pressure  on  the  brain  or  a  part  of  the  skull  was  in  bits, 
his  custom  was  to  remove  all  these  and,  trimming  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  371 

edges  of  the  hole  in  the  brainpan,  to  fit  over  it  a  neat 
disk  of  cocoanut-shell,  return  the  scalp,  and  nurse  the 
patient  to  health. 

He  had  known  of  cases  when  injured  brain  matter 
was  replaced  with  pig-brains,  but  admitted  that  the  pa- 
tient in  such  cases  became  first  violently  angry  and  then 
died.  Lancing  boils  and  abscesses  with  thorns  had  been 
his  former  habit,  but  he  favored  a  nail  for  the  purpose 
nowadays. 

Fearing  lest  fever  should  attack  Red  Chicken,  he 
had  prepared  a  decoction  from  the  hollow  joints  of  the 
bamboo,  which  he  administered  in  frequent  doses  from  a 
cocoanut-shell.  It  was  milk-white,  and  became  trans- 
lucent in  water,  like  that  beautiful  variety  of  opal,  the 
hydrophane.  There  was  a  legend,  said  the  tatihi,  that 
the  knowledge  of  this  medicine  had  been  gleaned  from 
a  dark  man  who  had  come  on  a  ship  many  years  before, 
and  with  this  clue  I  recognized  it  as  tabasheer,  a  febri- 
fuge long  known  in  India. 

A  fire  had  been  built  outside  the  straw  hovel  in  which 
Red  Chicken  lay,  and  stones  were  heating  in  it,  so  that 
if  milder  medicine  did  not  avail  the  patient  might  be 
laid  on  a  pile  of  blazing  stones  covered  with  protecting 
leaves,  and  swathed  in  cloths  until  perspiration  con- 
quered fever.  The  patient  would  then  be  rushed  to  the 
sea  or  river  and  plunged  into  cold  water. 

But  this  procedure  was  not  necessary.  Red  Chicken 
got  well  rapidly,  and  in  a  few  days  was  walking  about 
as  usual,  though  with  a  thoughtful  look  in  his  eye  that 
promised  a  soul-struggle  with  Pere  Olivier,  whose  new 
gods  had  not  protected  the  fisherman  against  the  gods 
of  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  journey  over  the  roof  of  the  world  to  Oomoa;  an  encounter  with  a  wild 
woman  of  the  hills. 

PERE  OLIVIER  tried  to  dissuade  me  from 
walking  back  to  Oomoa,  and  offered  me  his 
horse,  but  I  determined  to  go  afoot  and  let 
Orivie,  a  native  youth,  be  my  mounted  guide.  Orivie 
is  named  for  Pere  Olivier;  there  being  no  "1"  in  the  Mar- 
quesan  language,  the  good  priest's  name  is  pronounced 
as  if  spelled  in  English  Oreeveeay. 

The  horse,  the  usual  small,  tough  mountain-pony, 
was  caught,  and  upon  him  we  strapped  the  saddle  with 
cow-skin  stirrups,  hairy  and  big,  and  a  rope  bridle. 
Orivie,  handsomely  dressed  in  wrinkled  denim  trousers, 
a  yellow  pareu  and  an  aged  straw  hat,  mounted  the 
beast,  and  bidding  farewell  to  the  friends  I  had  made, 
we  began  to  climb  the  trail  through  the  village. 

At  each  of  the  dozen  houses  we  passed  I  had  to  stop 
and  say  Kaoha  to  the  occupants.  In  these  islands  there 
is  none  of  that  coldness  toward  the  casual  passer-by 
which  is  common  in  America,  where  one  may  walk 
through  the  tiniest  village  and  receive  no  salutation  un- 
less the  village  constable  sees  a  fee  in  arresting  the  way- 
farer for  not  having  money  or  a  job.  All  the  elders 
were  tattooed,  and  as  every  island  and  even  every  valley 
differed  in  its  style  of  skin  decoration,  these  people  had 
new  patterns  and  pictures  of  interest  to  me.  I  made 
it  a  point  to  linger  a  little  before  each  house,  praising 

372 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  373 

the  appearance  of  these  tattooed  old  people,  both  be- 
cause it  pleased  them  and  because  it  is  a  pity  that  this 
national  art  expression  should  die  out  at  the  whim  of 
whites  who  substitute  nothing  for  it.  By  this  depriva- 
tion, as  by  a  dozen  others,  the  Marquesans  have  been 
robbed  of  racial  pride  and  clan  distinction,  and  their 
social  life  destroyed. 

Despite  this  delay,  Orivie  and  I  were  soon  past  the 
houses.  As  population  has  decreased  in  all  the  valleys 
the  people  have  moved  down  from  the  upper  heights  to 
districts  nearer  the  sea,  for  neighborliness  and  conven- 
ience. Only  a  few  in  some  places  have  remained  in  the 
further  glens,  and  these  are  the  non-conformists,  who 
retain  yet  their  native  ways  of  thought  and  living  and 
their  ancient  customs.  This  I  knew,  but  I  pursued  my 
way  behind  the  climbing  little  horse,  enjoying  the  many 
sights  and  perfumes  of  the  jungle,  in  happy  ignorance 
of  an  experience  soon  to  befall  me  with  one  of  these  resi- 
dents of  the  heights.  It  fell  upon  me  suddenly,  the 
most  embarrassing  of  several  experiences  that  have  di- 
vided me  between  fear  and  laughter. 

Perhaps  a  mile  above  the  village,  in  a  wilderness  of 
shrubbery,  trees,  and  giant  ferns,  we  came  upon  a  cross- 
trail,  a  thin  line  of  travel  hardly  breaking  the  dense 
growth,  and  saw  a  woman  appear  from  among  the 
leaves.  She  was  large,  perhaps  five  feet,  ten  inches, 
tall ;  a  Juno  figure,  handsome  and  lithe.  Such  a  woman 
of  her  age,  about  twenty-two  years,  does  the  work  of  a 
man,  makes  copra,  fells  trees,  lifts  heavy  stones,  and  is  a 
match  for  the  average  man  in  strength.  She  was  dark, 
as  are  all  Marquesans  who  live  a  hardy  and  vigorous 
life  unsheltered  from  sun  and  wind,  and  in  the  half 


374  WHITE  SHADOWS 

shadow  of  the  forest  she  seemed  like  an  animal,  wild  and 
savage.  Her  scarlet  pareu  and  necklace  of  red  peppers 
added  color  to  a  picture  that  struck  me  at  once  as 
bizarre  and  memorable. 

The  horse  had  passed  her,  and  turning  about  in  the 
saddle  Orivie  replied  to  her  greeting,  while  I  added  a 
courteous  "Kaoha!"  She  looked  at  me  with  extraor- 
dinary attention,  which  I  ascribed  to  my  white  ducks 
and  traveling  cap,  while  she  asked  who  I  was.  Orivie 
replied  that  I  was  a  stranger  on  my  way  over  the  moun- 
tains. She  advanced  into  the  main  trail  then,  letting 
slip  from  her  shoulders  a  weight  of  packages,  tea,  and 
other  groceries,  and  suddenly  embraced  me,  smelling 
my  face  and  picking  me  up  in  a  bear  hug  that,  startled 
as  I  was,  nearly  choked  me. 

"Take  care!"  cried  Orivie,  in  a  tone  between  alarm 
and  amusement.  I  backed  hastily  away,  and  sought  to 
take  refuge  beside  a  boulder,  but  she  vaulted  after  me, 
and  seizing  me  again,  resumed  her  passionate  attack. 

"She  is  a  woman  of  the  mountains!  She  will  take 
you  away  to  her  paepael"  my  excited  guide  yelled  warn- 
ingly. 

That  was  her  intention.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
it.  She  seized  me  by  the  arm  and  tried  to  drag  me  away 
from  the  boulder  to  which  I  clung.  For  several  mo- 
ments I  was  engaged  in  a  struggle  more  sincere  than 
chivalrous  on  my  part  and  ardently  demonstrative  on 
hers.  But  as  I  absolutely  would  not  accede  to  her  de- 
sire to  give  me  a  home  in  the  hills,  she  was  forced  to  give 
up  hope  after  a  final  embrace,  which  I  ended  rudely,  but 
scientifically.  Rising  to  her  feet  again,  she  picked  up 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  375 

her  burden,  which  must  have  weighed  fully  a  hundred 
pounds,  and  went  her  way. 

"She  is  a  hinenao  pu"  said  Orivie.  That  means  liter- 
ally a  coquette  without  reason.  I  did  not  seek  for 
double  meaning  in  the  remark,  but  expressed  my  opin- 
ion of  all  hinenaos  as  I  replaced  my  cap  and  readjusted 
my  garments. 

"These  women  of  the  heights  are  all  like  that,"  said 
my  guide.  "They  have  no  sense  and  no  shame.  If 
they  see  a  stranger  near  their  home,  they  will  seize  him, 
as  men  do  women.  If  they  are  in  the  mood,  they  will 
not  take  no  for  an  answer.  It  has  always  been  their  cus- 
tom, as  that  of  the  hill  men  capturing  the  valley  women. 
It  is  shameful,  but  it  has  never  changed.  She  would 
give  you  food  and  treat  you  with  kindness  as  a  man  does 
his  bride.  You  know,  in  the  old  days  the  strong  women 
had  more  than  one  husband;  sometimes  four  or  five, 
and  they  chose  them  in  this  way.  If  you  were  nearer 
where  Tepu  lives,  she  would  make  you  a  prisoner. 
They  have  often  done  that." 

"Do  we  go  near  her  home?"  said  I. 

"No;  we  see  no  more  paepaes,"  replied  Orivie. 

"Then,"  I  said,  "let  us  hasten  onward." 

We  mounted  at  every  foot,  and  soon  were  above  the 
cocoanuts.  The  trail  was  a  stream  interspersed  with 
rocks,  for  in  these  steep  accents  the  path,  worn  lower 
than  its  borders,  becomes  in  the  rainy  season  the  natural 
bed  of  the  trickle  or  torrent  that  runs  to  the  valley. 
The  horse  leaped  from  rock  to  rock,  planting  his  back 
feet  and  springing  upward  to  a  perch,  upon  which  he 
hung  until  he  got  balance  for  another  leap.  I  followed 


376  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  animal,  knowing  him  wiser  in  such  matters  than  I. 
From  time  to  time  Orivie  urged  me  to  ride  and  when  I 
refused  gave  me  the  knowing  look  bestowed  upon  the 
witless,  the  glance  of  the  asylum-keeper  upon  the  lunatic 
who  thinks  himself  a  billiard  ball. 

We  were  soon  so  high  that  I  saw  below  only  a  big 
basin,  in  which  was  a  natural  temple,  the  vast  ruin  of  a 
gigantic  minster,  it  seemed,  and  across  the  basin  a 
rugged,  saw-like  profile  of  the  mountain-top.  Eons 
ago  the  upper  valley  was  a  volcano,  when  the  island  of 
Fatu-hiva  was  under  the  sea.  Once  the  fire  burst 
through  the  crater  side  toward  the  present  beach,  and 
after  the  explosion  there  was  left  a  massive  gateway  of 
rock,  through  which  we  had  come  from  the  village. 
Towering  so  high  that  they  were  hardly  perceptible 
when  we  had  been  beside  them,  they  showed  from  this 
height  their  whole  formation,  like  the  wrecked  walls  of 
a  stupendous  basilica. 

Up  and  up  we  went.  The  way  was  steeper  than 
any  mountain  I  have  ever  climbed,  except  the  sheer 
sides  of  chasms  where  ropes  are  necessary,  or  the  chim- 
neys of  narrow  defiles.  I  have  climbed  on  foot  Vesu- 
vius, Halaakela,  Kilauea,  Fuji,  and  Mayon,  and  the 
mountains  of  America,  Asia,  and  South  America, 
though  I  know  nothing  by  trial  of  the  terrors  of  the 
Alps.  However,  the  horse  could  and  did  go  up  the 
steep,  though  it  taxed  him  to  the  utmost,  and  these 
horses  are  like  mountain-goats,  for  there  is  hardly  any 
level  land  in  the  Marquesas. 

Unexpectedly,  the  sea  came  in  view,  with  the  Catholic 
church  and  its  white  belfry,  but  in  another  turn  it  disap- 


Catholic  Church  at  Hanavave 

Frere  Fesal  on  left,  Pere  Olivier  on  right 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  377 

peared.  I  fell  again  and  again;  the  horse  floundered 
among  the  stones  in  the  trough  and  fell,  too,  Orivie  seiz- 
ing trees  or  bushes  that  lined  the  banks  to  save  himself. 
Rocks  as  large  as  hundred-ton  vessels  were  on  the  moun- 
tainside above,  held  from  falling  only  by  small  rocks 
interposed,  feeble  obstacles  to  an  avalanche.  Beetling 
precipices  overhung  the  village.  I  thought  they  might 
fall  at  any  moment,  and  the  Marquesans  recount  many 
such  happenings.  In  Tai-o-hae  three  hundred  natives 
were  entombed  forever  by  a  landslide,  and  Orivie 
pointed  out  the  tracks  of  such  slides,  and  immense 
masses  of  rock  in  the  far  depths  below,  beside  strips  of 
soft  soil  brought  down  by  the  rains. 

The  wild  guava  and  the  thorny  keoho,  the  taro,  the 
pandanus  and  the  banian,  all  the  familiar  and  useful 
trees  and  plants  were  left  behind.  We  toiled  onward  in 
a  wilderness  of  stone. 

I  climbed  around  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and  stood 
above  the  sea.  The  blue  ocean,  as  I  looked  downward, 
was  directly  under  my  eyes,  and  I  could  see  the  fishing 
canoes  like  chips  on  the  water.  It  was  a  thousand  feet 
straight  down;  the  standing-place  was  but  three  feet 
wide,  wet  and  slippery.  The  mighty  trade-wind  swept 
around  the  crags  and  threatened  to  dislodge  me. 

That  demoniacal  impulse  to  throw  oneself  from  a 
height  took  possession  of  me.  Almost  a  physical  urg- 
ing of  the  body,  as  if  some  hidden  Mephistopheles  not 
only  poured  into  the  soul  his  hellish  advice  to  end  your 
life,  but  pushed  you  to  the  brink.  As  never  before  the 
evil  desire  to  fall  from  that  terrible  height  attacked  me, 
and  the  world  became  a  black  dizziness.  Struggling,  I 


378  WHITE  SHADOWS 

threw  out  my  hand ;  the  unconscious  grip  upon  a  stunted 
fern,  itself  no  barrier  against  falling,  gave  me  a  mental 
grip  upon  myself,  and  the  crisis  was  passed. 

On  hands  and  knees  I  crept  around  the  ledge,  for  the 
wind  was  a  gale,  and  a  slip  of  a  foot  might  mean  a  drop 
of  a  fifth  of  a  mile. 

The  next  valley,  Tapaatea,  came  in  view,  and  Hana- 
vave  a  cleft  in  the  mountains,  the  stream  a  silver  cord. 
A  cascade  gleamed  on  the  opposite  side  against  the 
Namana  hills.  It  is  Vaieelui,  the  youth  Orivie  in- 
formed me,  as  we  went  higher,  still  on  the  dangerous 
ledge  that  binds  the  seaward  precipice.  All  the  valleys 
converged  to  a  point,  and  nothing  below  was  distinct. 

Higher  we  went,  and  were  level  with  the  jagged  ridge 
of  the  Faeone  mountains  toward  the  north,  and  could 
look  through  the  pierced  mountain,  Laputa;  through 
the  hole,  tehavcdinenao,  that  is  like  a  round  window  to 
the  sky,  framed  in  black,  about  which  legends  are  raised. 
Orivie  smiled  indulgently  as  I  explained  to  him  that 
that  hole  was  made  by  sea-currents  when  Laputa  was 
under  the  ocean.  He  knew  that  a  certain  warrior,  half 
god  and  half  man,  threw  his  spear  through  the  mountain 
once  upon  a  time. 

We  came  then  to  the  veriest  pitch  of  the  journey,  like 
the  roof  of  the  world,  and  it  was  necessary  to  crawl 
about  another  ledge  that  permitted  a  perpendicular 
view  of  2500  feet,  so  desperate  in  its  attraction  that  had 
I  known  the  name  of  that  saint  who  is  the  patron  of 
alpenstock  buyers  I  would  have  offered  him  an  ave. 
This  was  the  apex.  Once  safely  past  it,  the  trail  went 
downward  to  a  plateau. 

I  caught  up  with  Orivie  and  the  horse,  and  my 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  379 

muscles  so  rejoiced  at  the  change  of  motion  in  descent 
that  almost  involuntarily  I  took  a  few  steps  of  a  j  ig  and 
uttered  the  first  verses  of  "I  Only  Had  Fifty  Cents." 
Mosses  and  ferns  by  the  billion  covered  every  foot  of  the 
small  plateau.  There  were  no  trees.  The  trail  was  a 
foot  deep  in  water,  like  an  irrigation  ditch.  One  still 
might  easily  break  one's  neck.  And  I  reflected  that 
Pere  Olivier  crosses  many  times  a  year  between  Oomoa 
and  Hanavave,  in  his  black  soutan  and  on  his  weary 
horse,  in  all  weathers,  alone;  it  is  a  fact  to  treasure  for 
recalling  when  one  hears  all  missionaries  included  in  the 
accusation  of  selfishness  that  springs  so  often  to  the  lips 
of  many  men. 

We  reached  the  plane  of  cocoanuts,  and  I  asked 
Orivie  to  fetch  down  a  couple,  after  essaying  to  perform 
that  feat  myself  and  failing  dismally  besides  scratching 
my  nose  and  hands.  Bare  feet  are  a  requisite — bare 
and  tough  as  leather.  The  Marquesans  cut  notches  in 
the  trees  after  they  reach  maturity,  to  make  the  climbing 
easier,  a  custom  they  have  in  many  parts  of  Asia,  but 
not  in  Tahiti.  These  footholds  are  made  every  three 
feet  on  opposite  sides.  They  are  cut  shallowly,  inclin- 
ing downward  and  outward,  in  order  not  to  wound  the 
wood  of  the  tree  or  to  form  pockets  in  which  water 
would  collect  and  rot  it.  With  these  aids  they  climb 
with  ease,  using  a  rope  of  purau  bark  tied  about  the 
wrists,  and  by  these  they  pull  themselves  from  notch. 

I  have  seen  a  child  of  six  years  reach  the  top  of  a 
sixty-foot  tree  in  a  minute  or  so,  and  I  have  seen  a  man 
or  woman  stop  on  the  way,  fifty  feet  from  the  earth, 
and  light  a  cigarette.  Slim,  fat,  chiefs  or  commoners, 
all  learn  this  knack  in  infancy.  Men  who  puff  along 


380  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  road  because  of  their  bulk  will  attain  the  branches 
of  a  palm  with  the  agility  of  monkeys. 

Orivie  had  no  notches  to  assist  him,  but  tied  his  ankles 
together  with  a  piece  of  tough  vine,  leaving  about  ten 
inches  of  play,  and  with  this  band,  pressed  tightly 
against  the  tree,  giving  firm  support  while  his  arms, 
clasping  the  trunk  above,  drew  him  upward  a  yard  at 
a  time,  he  was  at  the  crest  of  a  fifty-foot  tree  in  a 
minute,  and  threw  down  two  drinking  nuts.  They  were 
as  big  as  foot-balls  and  weighed  about  five  pounds  each. 
We  had  no  knife,  but  broke  in  the  tops  with  stones, 
and  holding  up  the  shining  green  nuts,  let  the  wine  flow 
down  our  throats.  Never  was  a  better  thirst-quencher 
or  heartener!  The  hottest  noon  on  the  hottest  beach, 
when  the  coral  burns  the  feet,  this  nectar  is  cool.  After 
the  most  arduous  climb,  when  lungs  and  muscles  ache 
with  weariness,  it  freshens  strength  and  lifts  the  spirit. 

By  the  cocoanut-gro^e  ran  a  level  stream  shaded  with 
pandanus,  and  following  it,  we  commenced  again  to 
mount  on  a  pathway  arched  by  small  trees,  down  which 
the  stream  coursed.  The  cocoanuts  fell  away  as  we 
went  up  the  ridge  and  emerged  upon  a  tableland  cov- 
ered with  ferns,  some  green  and  some  dead  and  dry, 
carpeting  the  flat  expanse  as  far  as  eye  could  see  with 
a  mat  of  lavender,  the  green  and  the  brown  melting 
into  that  soft  color. 

We  were  further  on  the  broad  roof  on  the  mountains, 
in  the  middle  now  and  not  on  the  edge,  so  we  ran  and 
galloped  and  shouted.  Wild  horses  fled  from  us,  and 
we  heard  the  grunt  of  boar  in  the  fern  thickets.  The 
fan-palms,  dwarfs,  but  graceful,  intermingled  with 
magnificent  tree-ferns,  while  above  them  curved  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  381 

huetu,  the  immense  mountain  plantain,  called  fei  in 
Tahiti,  where  they  are  the  bread  of  the  people;  they 
have  ribbed,  emerald  leaves,  as  big  as  a  man.  Feeders 
of  dark  people  in  many  lands  for  thousands  of  years, 
theirs  is  the  same  golden  fruit  I  had  eaten  at  breakfast 
with  Pere  Olivier,  three  thousand  feet  below.  They 
grow  only  in  the  mountains,  and  the  men  who  bring 
them  into  the  villages  have  feet  shaped  like  a  hand 
spread  out  to  its  widest,  with  toes  twisted  curiously  by 
climbing  rocks  and  grasping  roots  for  support. 

The  rain  began  to  fall  again,  and  the  wind  came 
stronger,  but  now  we  were  going  down  in  earnest.  The 
sea  shone  again,  but  it  was  on  the  Oomoa  side.  We 
passed  under  trees  hung  with  marvelous  orchids,  the 
puaauetaha,  Orivie  said,  parasitic  vines  related  to  the 
vanilla  as  the  lion  is  related  to  the  kitten,  cousins,  but 
with  little  family  likeness. 

The  trail  became  very  dangerous  at  this  point,  a 
rocky  slide,  with  steps  a  foot  or  two  apart  like  uneven 
stairs,  and  all  a  foot,  or  sometimes  two,  under  running 
water.  I  jumped  and  slid  and  slipped,  following  the 
unhappy  plunging  horse.  Darkness  came  on  quickly 
with  the  blinding  rain,  and  the  descent  was  often  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  over  rocks,  eroded  hills, 
along  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  I  fell  here,  and  saved 
myself  by  catching  a  root  in  the  trail  and  pulling  my- 
self up  again.  I  would  have  dropped  upon  the  roof 
of  the  gendarme's  house  a  thousand  feet  below. 

We  heard  the  sound  of  the  surf,  and  letting  the  horse 
go,  Orivie  led  me,  by  that  sense  we  surrender  for  the 
comforts  of  civilization,  down  the  bed  of  a  cascade  to 
the  River  of  Oomoa,  which  we  waded,  and  then  arrived 


382  WHITE  SHADOWS 

at  Grelet's  house.     We  had  come  thirteen  miles.     I 
was  tired,  but  Orivie  made  nothing  of  the  journey. 

Covered  with  mud  as  I  was,  I  went  to  the  river  and 
bathed  in  the  rain  and,  returning  to  the  house,  looked 
after  my  health.  A  half  ounce  of  rum,  a  pint  of  cocoa- 
nut-milk  from  a  very  young  nut,  the  juice  of  half  a  lime 
just  from  the  tree,  two  lumps  of  sugar,  and  I  had  an 
invigorating  draught,  long  enough  for  a  golf  player 
after  thirty-six  holes,  and  delicate  enough  for  a  de- 
butante after  her  first  cotillion.  The  Paumotan  boys 
and  Pae  looked  on  in  horror,  saying  that  I  was  spoiling 
good  rum. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Return  in  a  canoe  to  Atuona;  Tetuahunahuna  relates  the  story  of  the  girl 
who  rode  the  white  horse  in  the  celebration  of  the  fete  of  Joan  of  Arc 
in  Tai-o-hae;  Proof  that  sharks  hate  women;  steering  by  the  stars  to 
Atuona  beach. 

THE  canoe  we  had  followed  to  Hanavave  stopped 
in  Oomoa  on  its  way  to  Hiva-oa,  my  home,  for 
I  had  bargained  with  Tetuahunahuna,  its  owner, 
for  my  conveyance  to  Atuona.  Grelet  would  event- 
ually have  transported  me,  but  so  great  was  his  aver- 
sion to  leaving  Fatu-hiva  that  I  felt  it  would  be  asking 
too  much  of  him.  He  reminded  me  that  Kant,  the 
great  metaphysician,  had  lived  eighty  years  in  his  birth- 
place and  never  stirred  more  than  seven  miles  from  it. 
The  canoe  had  come  to  Hanavave  to  bring  back  two 
young  women.  One  was  dark,  a  voluptuous  figure  in 
a  pink  satin  gown  over  a  lace  petticoat.  A  leghorn 
hat,  trimmed  with  shells  and  dried  nuts,  sat  coquettishly 
upon  her  masses  of  raven  hair.  Upon  her  neck, 
rounded  as  a  young  cocoanut-tree,  was  a  necklace  of 
pearls  that  an  empress  might  have  envied  her,  had  they 
been  real  and  not  the  synthetic  gift  of  some  trader. 
Small  and  shapely  feet,  bare,  peeped  from  under  her 
filmy  frills.  Her  eyes  were  the  large,  limpid  orbs  of 
the  typical  Marquesan,  like  sepia,  long-lashed;  her  nose 
straight  and  perfect,  her  mouth  sensuous  and  demand- 
ing. Ghost  Girl,  her  name  signified,  and  she  flitted 
about  the  islands  like  a  sprite. 

"She  levies  tribute  on  all  whom  she  likes,"  said  Grelet. 


384  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"Her  devotions  are  rum  and  tobacco."  On  meeting 
me  she  squatted  and  spat  through  her  fingers  to  show 
her  thirst,  as  do  all  Marquesans  whose  manners  have 
not  been  corrupted  by  strangers. 

The  other  girl,  younger,  in  a  scarlet  tunic  with  a 
wreath  of  hibiscus  flowers  on  her  head,  startled  me  by 
appearing  with  all  her  body  that  I  could  see  colored 
a  brilliant  yellow.  She  had  decked  herself  for  the  jour- 
ney with  a  covering  of  ena-paste,  perfumed  with  saffron, 
a  favorite  cosmetic  of  island  beauties. 

The  sun  was  white  on  Oomoa  beach  as  we  came  down 
to  it  from  the  grateful  shade  of  Grelet's  plantation. 
Against  the  blinding  glimmer  of  it  the  half -naked  boats- 
men,  bearing  bunches  of  bananas,  dozens  of  drinking 
nuts,  bread,  and  wine,  the  gifts  of  my  host,  were  dark 
silhouettes  outlined  against  the  blue  sea. 

Behind  them  walked  Tetuahunahuna.  Calm,  unbur- 
dened, and  without  a  tattoo  mark  on  his  straight  brown 
body,  he  looked  the  commander  of  men  that  he  was, 
a  man  whose  word  none  would  think  to  question  or 
to  doubt.  Indifferent  alike  to  the  dizzying  heat  and 
to  the  admiring  glances  of  the  women,  he  set  at  once 
to  ordering  the  loading  of  the  boat  that  lay  upon  the 
sands  beyond  the  reach  of  the  breakers. 

A  dozen  women  lounged  in  the  ancient  public  place 
beneath  the  banian  tree,  a  mighty  platform  of  black 
stone  on  which  the  island  women  had  sat  for  centuries 
to  watch  their  men  come  and  go  in  canoes  to  the  fish- 
ing or  to  raids  on  neighboring  bays,  and  where  for 
decades  they  have  awaited  the  landing  of  their  white 
sailor  lovers. 

"Tai  menino!    A  pacific  sea!"  they  called  to  us  as 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  385 

we  passed  them,  and  their  eyes  followed  with  envy  the 
progress  of  Ghost  Girl  and  Sister  of  Anna. 

The  boat  was  already  well  loaded  when  I  reached 
it.  The  fermented  breadfruit  wrapped  in  banana- 
leaves,  the  pig  dug  from  the  pit  that  morning  and 
packed  in  sections  of  bamboo,  the  calabashes  of  river 
water,  the  bananas  and  drinking  nuts,  were  all  in  place. 
With  difficulty  my  luggage  was  added  to  the  cargo, 
and  we  found  cramped  places  for  ourselves  and  bade 
farewell  to  Grelet,  while  the  oarsmen  held  the  boat 
steady  at  the  edge  of  the  lapping  waves.  Tetuahuna- 
huna,  watching  the  breakers,  gave  a  quick  word  of  com- 
mand, and  we  plunged  through  the  foam. 

The  boat  leaped  and  pitched  in  the  flying  spray. 
The  oarsmen,  leaping  to  their  places,  struck  out  with 
the  oars.  A  sharp  "Hale!"  of  alarm  rose  behind  me, 
and  I  saw  that  an  oar  had  snapped.  But  Tetuahuna- 
huna,  waist-deep  in  the  water  at  our  stern,  gave  a 
mighty  push,  and  we  were  safely  afloat  as  he  clambered 
over  the  edge  and  stood  dripping  on  the  steersman's 
tiny  perch,  while  the  men,  holding  the  boat  head-on 
to  the  rolling  waves,  drove  us  safely  through  to  open 
water. 

Outside  the  bay  they  put  by  their  oars  and  we  waited 
for  a  breeze  to  give  the  signal  for  hoisting  mast  and 
sail.  The  beach  lay  behind  us,  a  narrow  line  of  white 
beyond  the  whiter  curve  of  surf.  The  blue  sky  burned 
above  us,  and  to  the  far  shimmering  horizon  stretched 
the  blue  calm  of  a  windless  sea. 

We  rolled  idly,  the  sun  scorching  us.  In  an  hour 
I  was  so  hot  that  I  began  to  wonder  if  I  could  endure 
the  torment.  The  buckle  on  my  trousers  burned  my 


386  WHITE  SHADOWS 

flesh,  and  I  could  not  touch  my  clothes  without  pain. 
The  Marquesans  lay  comfortably  on  the  seats  and  bun- 
dles, enjoying  their  pandanus-leaf  cigarettes.  Every 
few  moments  the  bow-oar  skillfully  rolled  one,  took  a 
few  puffs  and  handed  it  to  the  next  man,  who,  after 
taking  his  turn,  passed  it  down  the  waiting  line. 

From  time  to  time  Tetuahunahuna,  squatting  in  the 
stern,  made  a  sign,  and  a  fresh  cigarette  passed  un- 
touched through  eight  hands  to  his.  He  smoked 
serenely,  gazing  at  the  smooth  swells  of  water  and  wait- 
ing with  inexhaustible  patience  for  the  wind.  At  his 
feet  the  fifteen-year-old  girl,  Sister  of  Anne,  disposed 
her  saffron-colored  body  upon  oars  laid  across  the 
thwarts  and  slept.  Ghost  Girl,  beside  me,  laid  her 
glossy  head  in  my  lap  to  doze  more  comfortably. 

Jammed  against  the  unyielding  thwarts,  I  passed 
miserable  hours,  unable  to  move  more  than  a  few  inches 
in  the  narrow  space.  At  noon,  with  the  vertical  eye 
of  the  evil  sun  staring  down  upon  us,  my  clothes  were 
so  hot  that  I  had  to  hold  them  off  my  body.  I  medi- 
tated leaping  into  the  ocean  and  swimming  awhile. 
Ghost  Girl  saw  my  intention  when  I  stirred,  and  pulled 
me  back  beside  her. 

"Mako!"  she  cried.  efPuaa  hoef  She  pointed  to 
starboard.  A  gray  fin  moved  slowly  through  the  water 
twenty  feet  away.  "A  shark,  and  a  wicked  beast  he 
is!"  She  reached  to  pick  up  an  opened  cocoanut  and 
tossed  some  of  the  milk  over  her  shoulder  to  appease 
the  demon.  "Mako!"  she  repeated.  "Puaa  hoe!" 

"Eequin!"  echoed  Tetuahunahuna  in  French.  "The 
devil  of  the  Marquesas!" 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  387 

"But  you  are  not  afraid  of  them.  You  swim  where 
they  are,"  said  I. 

"Few  of  us  are  bitten  by  sharks,"  said  Tetuahuna- 
huna,  sizing  up  a  puff  of  wind  that  brought  a  faint 
hope.  It  died,  and  he  continued.  "We  are  often  in 
the  sea,  and  do  not  fear  the  mako  enough  to  make  us 
weak  against  him.  I  have  killed  many  with  a  knife. 
I  have  tied  ropes  about  their  bellies  and  made  them 
feel  silly  as  we  pulled  them  in.  I  have  tickled  their 
bellies  with  the  point  of  the  knife  that  slit  them  later. 
They  are  awkward,  they  must  turn  over  to  bite,  and 
they  are  afraid  of  a  man  swimming.  But  they  are 
devils,  and  hate  women.  They  do  not  like  men,  but 
women  they  will  go  far  to  kill." 

He  took  the  cigarette  Ghost  Girl  handed  him  and, 
squatting  on  the  rudder  deck,  looked  at  me  to  see  if  I 
were  interested.  Wretched  as  I  felt,  I  returned  his 
glance,  and  said  "Tiatohoa?"  which  means,  "Is  that 
so?"  and  showed  that  I  was  attentive. 

"It  is  so,"  he  replied.  "There  are  reasons  for  this. 
In  times  before  the  memory  of  man  a  shark-god  was 
deceived  by  a  woman.  In  his  anger  he  overturned  an 
island,  but  this  did  not  appease  his  hate.  Since  that 
time  all  sharks  have  preyed  on  women." 

Sister  of  Anne  moved  restlessly  in  her  sleep  and  put 
her  tfrm-covered  feet  across  my  knees,  feet  as  hot  as 
an  iron  pump-handle  on  a  July  noon. 

"Hakaia!"  exclaimed  Ghost  Girl,  and  hung  the  feet 
over  the  side. 

"Sharks  will  let  men  live  to  kill  women,"  Tetuahuna- 
huna  resumed.  "There  are  many  proofs  of  this,  but 


388  WHITE  SHADOWS 

most  convincing  is  a  happening  that  every  one  in  Tai- 
o-hae  and  Nuka-hiva  knows,  because  it  happened  only 
a  few  years  ago.  I  saw  that  happening." 

I  looked  at  him  with  attention,  and  after  a  few  puffs 
of  smoke  he  continued. 

"You  may  think,  you  who  use  the  Iron  Fingers  That 
Make  Words,  that  the  shark  does  not  know  the  differ- 
ence between  men  and  women.  I  have  seen  it,  and  I 
will  tell  you  honestly.  I  have  thought  often  of  it,  for 
all  who  live  in  Tai-o-hae  know  that  woman,  and  her 
foster-sister  sits  there  with  the  ena  upon  her.  She  does 
riot  lie  in  the  cemetery,  this  girl  of  whom  I  speak,  nor 
is  her  body  beside  that  of  her  fathers  in  the  ua  tupapau. 
Her  name  was  Anna,  a  name  for  your  country,  fenua 
Menike,,  for  her  father  was  captain  of  a  vessel  with  three 
masts  that  came  from  Newbeddifordimass,  a  place 
where  all  the  Menike  ships  that  hunt  the  whale  came 
from.  Her  mother  was  O  Take  Oho,  of  the  valley  of 
Hapaa,  whose  father  was  eaten  by  the  men  of  Tai- 
o-hae  in  the  war  with  that  white  captain,  Otopotee. 

"Ue!  Those  big  ships  that  hunt  the  whale  come  no 
more.  The  paaoa  spouts  with  none  to  strike  him. 
Standireili  makes  the  lanterns  burn  in  Menike  land, 
and  they  send  it  here  in  tipoti,  the  big  cans.  The  old 
days  are  gone. 

"The  father  of  Anna  saw  her  first  when  she  was  one 
year  old  and  could  barely  swim.  He  came  in  his  ship 
from  Newbeddifordimass,  and  he  said  that  it  was  for 
the  last  time,  for  the  whaling  was  done.  He  was  a 
young  man,  strong  and  a  user  of  strong  words,  but  he 
looked  with  pride  on  the  little  Anna,  and  kept  her  with 
her  with  her  mother  on  his  ship  for  many  weeks,  while 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  389 

the  men  of  the  ship  danced  with  the  girls.  He  would 
bathe  on  the  beach  in  the  bay  of  Tai-o-hae,  and  the  little 
Anna  would  swim  to  him  through  the  deep  water.  He 
gave  her  a  small  silver  box  with  a  silver  chain,  for  the 
tiki  of  Bernadette,  on  the  day  that  he  sailed  away. 

"He  did  not  come  again  to  Tai-o-hae,  nor  Atuona, 
nor  Hanavave.  We  heard  that  he  traded  with  Tahiti, 
and  had  given  up  the  chase  of  the  paaoa.  I  have  never 
been  in  Tahiti.  They  say  that  it  is  beautiful  and  that 
the  people  are  joyous.  They  have  all  the  namu  they 
can  drink.  The  government  is  good  to  them."  Tetua- 
hunahuna  sighed,  and  looked  at  my  bag,  in  which  was 
the  bottle  of  rum  Grelet  had  given  me. 

I  poured  a  drink  into  the  cocoanut-shell  Ghost  Girl 
had  emptied,  and  gave  it  to  him.  "Kaoha!"  he  said 
and,  having  swallowed  the  rum,  went  on. 

"When  Anna  had  fourteen  years  she  was  moi  kana- 
hua,  as  beautiful  as  a  great  pearl.  She  was  tall  for 
her  age  as  are  the  daughters  of  the  great.  Her  hair 
was  of  red  and  of  gold,  like  that  of  Titihuti  of  Autuona. 
Her  eyes  were  the  color  of  the  mio,  the  rosewood  when 
freshly  cut,  and  her  breasts  like  the  milk-cocoanut 
husked  for  drinking. 

"Many  young  men,  Marquesan  men  and  all  the  white 
men,  and  George  Washington,  the  black  American, 
tried  to  capture  Anna,  but  Peje  Simeon,  the  priest, 
had  given  her  to  the  blessed  Maria  Peato,  and  the  Sis- 
ters guarded  her  carefully.  From  the  time  she  played 
naked  on  the  beach  she  wore  the  tiki  of  Bernadette  in 
the  silver  box  given  her  by  her  father,  and  she  said  the 
prayers  Pere  Simeon  taught  her  from  the  book.  Sfie 
wore  a  blue  pareu,  and  that  was  strange,  for  only  old 


390  WHITE  SHADOWS 

people,  and  few  of  them,  wear  any  but  the  red  or  yellow 
loin-cloth.  But  blue,  said  little  Anna,  is  the  color  of 
Maria  Peato,  mother  of  Christ." 

The  others  were  listening  curiously.  Ghost  Girl 
crossed  herself  and  muttered,  "Kaoha,  Maria  Peato!" 

"When  she  had  fourteen  years,  then,  Anna  was  dif- 
ferent from  all  other  girls  on  these  beaches.  All  men 
sighed  for  her,  but  she  was  one  who  would  not  follow 
the  custom  of  our  girls  since  always.  She  was  made 
different  by  her  mother,  by  the  prayers  of  Pere  Simeon, 
and  by  something  strange  in  her  kuhane — what  do  you 
say?  Soul.  She  cared  nothing  for  drink  or  pipi,  the 
trinkets  girls  adore.  She  spoke  of  herself  always  as 
the  daughter  of  a  Menike  captain,  a  father  who  would 
come  for  her  and  take  her  away.  Her  mother  had  kept 
this  always  in  her  mind,  and  Anna  never  joined  the 
dances. 

"Her  mother,  who  lived  on  the  beach  and  waited  for 
the  sailors,  saw  her  seldom,  for  Pere  Simeon  had  taken 
Anna  away,  and  kept  her  in  the  nuns'  house,  and  they 
guarded  her.  He  had  put  a  tapu  upon  her." 

I  sat  up  suddenly,  struck  by  a  memory.  "It  was 
she  who  rode  the  white  horse,  and  bore  the  armor  of 
Joan  in  the  great  parade?" 

"It  was  she.  The  nuns  would  have  had  her  live  in 
the  nun's  house  forever,  and  become  one  of  them.  But 
Anna  told  me  on  the  beach  when  she  came  hiding  to 
see  her  mother,  that  she  would  live  in  the  nuns'  house 
only  until  her  Menike  father  came  to  take  her  away. 
She  kept  the  tiki  of  Bernadette  in  its  silver  box  upon 
her  neck,  and  it  was  her  god  to  whom  she  said  her 
prayers." 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  391 

"Epo!"  I  said,  sitting  up,  dumfounded.  "Go  on, 
Tetuahunahuna.  Tell  me  more." 

"There  came  the  great  day  of  the  blessed  Joan,"  said 
Tetuahunahuna,  after  tasting  a  fresh  cigarette.  "There 
were  drums  and  chants,  and  rum  for  all.  Pere  Simeon 
took  away  the  rum,  alas!  and  only  the  Menike  sailors 
on  the  ships  could  have  enough.  Anna  wore  a  gar- 
ment that  shone  like  the  sun  on  the  waves,  and  sat 
upon  a  white  horse,  riding  from  the  mission  to  the 
House  of  Lepers  on  the  beach.  Pere  Simeon  walked 
before  her  carrying  the  tiki  of  the  Sacrament,  and 
there  were  banners  white  as  the  new  web  of  the  cocoa- 
nut.  Anna  did  not  look  to  right  or  to  left  as  she  sat 
upon  the  horse,  but  when  she  stood  on  the  sand  by  the 
House  of  Lepers,  she  looked  long  at  a  new  ship  in  the 
bay. 

"Anna  said  that  this  ship  might  be  that  of  her  white 
father,  but  the  name  was  different,  and  this  ship  was 
not  from  Newbeddifordimass.  She  said  she  would 
swim  to  this  ship  to  see  her  father,  but  her  mother  said 
no.  Her  mother  told  her  that  the  waters  were  full  of 
sharks,  and  that  not  even  a  tiki  of  Bernadette  would 
save  her.  Then  came  the  nuns,  and  took  Anna  away. 
Anna  wept  as  she  went  with  them,  for  she  desired  to 
stay  and  look  at  the  ship. 

"That  night  the  boats  of  the  ship  could  not  land  on 
the  beach  of  Tai-o-hae,  for  the  sea  was  too  great,  so 
that  they  came  and  went  from  Peikua,  the  staircase  in 
the  rocks.  The  sailors  had  leave  to  do  what  they  wished 
and  they  had  plenty  of  rum  given  them  by  the  captain 
who  was  born  that  day  forty  years  before.  I  went 
then  to  the  ship  to  drink  the  captain's  rum  and  to  buy 


392  WHITE  SHADOWS 

tobacco.  I  am  of  Hiva-oa,  and  the  ship  was  large,  and 
new  to  me." 

Tetuahunahuna's  gesture  brought  quickly  to  him  a 
fresh  cigarette,  and  he  savored  its  rank  smoke  with  sat- 
isfaction. The  slender  canoe  swung  like  a  hammock  in 
the  long,  sluggish  rollers.  The  sun  blazed  pitilessly 
upon  us,  and  no  slightest  ruffle  of  white  broke  the  sur- 
face of  the  calm,  unrelenting  sea  that  held  us  prisoner. 

"At  night  there  was  nobody  on  the  ship  not  drunk. 
Some  of  the  men  had  seized  several  women  on  the  road 
that  leads  to  Tai-o-hae,  and  had  forced  them  to  the 
boat  and  carried  them  aboard.  Among  these  women 
was  Anna,  who  had  fled  from  the  nuns  to  seek  word 
of  her  father.  She  fought  like  a  wild  woman  of  the 
hills  when  they  held  her  in  jest  to  make  her  swallow 
the  rum,  but  the  strong  ship  men  conquered  her,  and 
the  sound  of  their  laughter  and  her  cries  was  so  great 
that  the  captain  himself  came  forward.  When  he  saw 
her  he  claimed  her  as  the  youngest,  as  is  the  custom. 

"She  went  with  him  weeping.  When  they  came  to 
his  cabin,  we  heard  her  crying  aloud  to  Maria  Peato. 
We  heard  the  shouts  of  the  captain,  enraged,  subduing 
her  with  blows.  There  was  much  rum,  and  the  women 
were  dancing.  There  was  much  noise,  but  I  had  drunk 
little,  having  just  come  to  the  ship,  and  I  heard  the 
crying  and  weeping  of  Anna. 

"After  a  time  came  Anna,  running  across  the  deck. 
It  was  a  large  vessel,  and  it  was  a  dark  night.  The 
captain  pursued  her.  She  climbed  the  rigging,  and  the 
captain  ordered  two  men  to  go  aloft  and  bring  her  to 
him. 

"Every  one  came  to  look,  with  yells  and  with  songs. 


t 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  393 

The  sailors  climbed  after  her,  and  she  went  higher  and 
higher,  until  near  the  top  of  that  tall  mast,  taller  than 
the  greatest  cocoanut-tree  in  Atuona.  There  she  held 
to  the  wood,  calling  upon  Maria  Peato.  The  captain 
was  like  a  wn  mad  with  namu.  He  called  to  the 
sailors  to  climb  higher.  But  when  one  reached  to  take 
her  by  the  foot,  she  threw  herself  into  the  air  and  fell 
a  great  distance  into  the  water. 

"The  captain  cried  that  he  would  give  four  litres  of 
rum  to  the  man  that  brought  her  back.  Some  ran  to 
get  the  boat,  others  dived  after  her.  I  was  one  of  these. 

"I  have  said  that  it  was  a  black  night.  When  in  the 
water  we  could  get  no  sight  of  her.  Then  on  the  ship 
one  turned  a  bright  lantern  on  the  sea,  and  all  of  us 
saw  her  arm  as  it  was  raised  to  swim.  She  was  a  hun- 
dred feet  before  us,  and  swimming  with  great  swift- 
ness. The  sailors  meantime  had  set  out  in  the  boat, 
but  they  had  drunk  much  rum,  and  rowed  around  and 
around.  We  three  men  swimming  in  the  beams  of  the 
lantern  came  closer  to  her  at  every  stroke. 

"Almost  my  hand  was  upon  her,  when  the  largest 
shark  I  have  ever  seen  rose  beside  her.  You  know 
it  is  at  night  that  these  devils  look  for  their  prey.  Anna 
saw  the  mako  at  the  same  moment,  and  made  a  great 
splashing.  I  heard  her  call  out  the  name  of  Bernadette 
the  Blessed. 

"The  men  with  me  turned  about,  but  I  kept  on.  I 
cried  to  the  boat  to  hurry  to  us.  I  could  see  the  mako 
turn  in  the  water,  as  he  must  do  to  take  anything  into 
his  mouth.  I  kicked  him  and  I  struck  him,  and  I  cursed 
him  by  the  name  of  Manu-Aiata,  the  shark  god.  If 
I  had  had  a  knife  I  could  have  killed  him  easily. 


394  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"But,  Menike,  I  could  do  nothing.  He  did  not  want 
me.  The  boat  came,  but  not  in  time.  I  saw  the  devil 
take  her  in  his  jaws  as  the  wild  boar  takes  a  bird  that 
is  helpless,  and  I  felt  him  descend  into  the  depths  of 
the  sea.  I  could  do  nothing." 

A  cat's-paw  stole  across  the  sea  from  the  southeast, 
the  boat  rolled  hard,  and  Tetuahunahuna  sprang  erect. 

ffA  toi  te  ka!     Make  sail!"  he  said. 

They  raised  the  slender  mast,  a  rose-wood  tree, 
roughly  shaped  in  the  forest,  and  fastened  it  to  either 
thwart  with  three  ropes.  Through  a  ring  at  its  head 
was  passed  the  lift,  and  the  sail  of  mats,  old  and  worn, 
was  set,  men  and  women  all  fastening  the  strings  to 
the  boom.  Two  sheets  were  used,  one  cleated  about 
five  feet  from  the  rudder,  the  other  at  the  disposition 
of  the  steersman,  who  let  out  the  boom  according  to  the 
wind. 

The  breeze  sprang  up  and  died,  and  sprang  up  again. 
At  last  the  deathly  calm,  the  sickening  heat,  were  over, 
and  we  sped  across  the  freshening  waves. 

Mast  and  sail  out  of  the  way,  we  stretched  ourselves 
in  the  boat  with  more  comfort,  enjoying  the  cooling 
current  of  air.  Tetuahunahuna,  the  sheet  in  his  hand, 
squatted  again  on  his  narrow  perch. 

"You  returned  to  that  ship  when  the  boat  picked  you 
up?"  I  asked. 

"Aue!"  he  replied.  "The  captain  was  crazed  with 
anger.  He  cursed  me,  and  said  that  the  girl  has  swum 
ashore. 

"  'No,  the  shark  has  taken  Anna,'  I  said.  'She  will 
look  for  her  white  father  no  more.' 

"The  captain  had  a  glass  of  rum  at  his  mouth,  but 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  395 

he  put  it  down.  He  would  have  me  tell  him  again  her 
name.  When  I  did  so,  he  shook  as  if  with  cold,  and 
he  swallowed  the  rum  quickly. 

"  'Where  was  she  born?'  he  said  next. 

"  'At  Hapaa.  Her  mother  is  O  Take  Oho,  whose 
father  was  eaten  by  the  men  of  Tai-o-hae,'  I  said,  and 
looking  at  his  face  I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  the  color 
of  the  mio,  the  rosewood  when  freshly  cut. 

"The  captain  went  to  his  cabin,  and  soon  he  leaped 
up  the  stairs,  falling  over  the  thing  they  look  at  to  steer 
the  ship,  and  there,  lying  on  the  deck,  he  cried  again 
and  again  that  I  had  done  wrong  not  to  tell  him  earlier. 

"He  held  in  his  hand  the  tiki,  the  silver  box  that  Anna 
had  always  worn  about  her  neck,  that  her  father  had 
given  her. 

"He  was  like  a  wild  bull  in  the  hills,  that  ship's  cap- 
tain, when  he  arose,  roaring  and  cursing  me.  I  feared 
that  he  would  shoot  me,  for  he  had  a  revolver  in  his 
hand  and  said  that  he  would  kill  himself.  But  he  did 
not. 

"A  Marquesan  who  was  as  hateful  to  himself  would 
have  eaten  the  eva,  but  this  man  had  not  the  courage, 
with  all  his  cries.  I  swam  ashore  when  he  became  mad- 
dened as  a  kava  drinker  who  does  not  eat.  The  mother 
of  Atuona,  whom  I  told  in  Tai-o-hae,  went  to  see  him, 
but  he  did  not  know  her,  and  she  took  the  tiki  from 
his  cabin  when  she  found  him  praying  to  it.  He  was 
paea,  his  stomach  empty  of  thought.  When  the  ship 
left,  he  was  tied  with  the  irons  they  have  for  sailors, 
and  the  second  chief  sailed  the  vessel." 

The  Ghost  Girl  shook  the  ena-coveTed  maiden. 

ffOi  vii!"  she  said  petulantly.     "Take  in  your  feet. 


396  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Do  you  want  the  mako  to  eat  them?  Do  you  not  re- 
member your  sister?" 

The  shark  still  moved  a  few  fathoms  away. 

We  were  now  in  the  open  sea,  with  forty  miles  to 
go  to  the  Bay  of  Traitors.  The  boat  lay  over  at  an 
angle,  the  boom  hissed  through  the  water  when  close- 
hauled,  and  when  full-winged,  its  heel  bounced  and 
splashed  on  the  surface,  as  we  made  our  six  knots. 
There  was  twice  too  much  weight  in  the  canoe,  but 
these  islanders  think  nothing  of  loads,  and  for  hours 
the  company  sat  to  windward  or  on  the  thwart  while 
we  took  advantage  of  every  puff  of  wind  that  blew. 
The  six  oarsmen  took  turns  in  bailing,  using  a  heavy 
carved  wooden  scoop,  but  in  the  frequent  flurries  the 
waves  poured  over  the  side. 

The  island  of  Fatu-hiva  faded  behind  us,  and  raised 
Moho-Tani,  the  Isle  of  Barking  Dogs,  a  small,  but 
beautifully  regular,  islet,  like  a  long  emerald.  No  soul 
dwells  there.  The  Moi-Atiu  clan  peopled  it  before  a 
sorcerer  dried  up  the  water  sources.  A  curse  is  upon 
it,  and  while  the  cocoanuts  flourish  and  all  is  fair  to 
the  eye,  it  remains  a  shunned  and  haunted  spot. 

Tahuata,  that  lovely  isle  of  the  valley  of  Vait-hua, 
rose  on  our  left,  with  the  cape  Te  hope  e  te  keko,  a 
purple  coast  miles  away,  which  as  the  dusk  descended 
grew  darker  and  was  lost.  The  shadowy  silhouettes 
of  the  mountains  of  Hiva-oa  projected  themselves  on 
the  horizon. 

Night  fell  like  a  wall,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
the  glow  of  the  pipe  that  passed  as  if  by  spirit  hands 
around  our  huddled  group.  The  head  of  Ghost  Girl 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  397 

was  on  my  knees,  and  among  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  cannibals  peace  enveloped  me  as  at  twilight  in  a 
grove.  More  in  tune  with  the  moods  of  nature,  the 
rhythm  of  sea  and  sky,  the  breath  of  the  salt  breeze, 
than  we  who  have  sold  our  birthright  for  arts,  these  sav- 
ages sat  silent  for  a  little  while  as  if  the  spirit  of  the 
hour  possessed  their  souls. 

Then  the  stars  began  to  take  their  places  in  heaven 
to  do  their  duty  toward  the  poor  of  earth,  and  I  saw 
the  bright  and  inspiring  faces  of  many  I  knew.  The 
wind  shifted  and  freshened,  the  sail  was  drawn  nearer, 
and  our  speed  became  perilous.  The  waves  grew,  but 
Tetuahunahuna,  seeing  nothing,  but  feeling  with  sheet 
and  helm  the  temper  of  changing  air  and  water,  kept 
the  canoe's  prow  steady,  and  the  men,  in  emergencies, 
threw  themselves  half  over  the  starboard  gunwale.  I 
was  on  the  edge  of  the  steersman's  perch,  enjoying  the 
mist  of  the  flying  spray  and  watching  the  stars  appear 
one  by  one. 

Tetuahunahuna  pointed  toward  the  northern  sky. 

"Miope!  I  steer  by  the  star  the  color  of  the  rose- 
wood tree,"  he  said.  There  was  our  own  Mars,  redder 
than  the  sunsets  over  Mariveles.  Northwest  he  was, 
this  god  of  war  and  fertility,  and  our  bow  beacon. 
Turning  and  gazing  toward  Fatu-hiva  I  saw  the  South- 
ern Cross,  low  in  the  sky,  brilliant,  and  splendid. 

"Mataike  fetu!"  Ghost  Girl  named  the  constellation. 
"The  Small  Eyes." 

"Miope  has  rivers  like  Taka-Uku  and  Atuona,"  I 
said,  relying  on  the  alleged  canals  of  Mars  to  save  my 
soul.  "I  have  seen  through  a  karahi  mea  tiohi  i  te  fetu, 


398  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  Mirror  Thing  Through  Which  One  Looks  At  The 
Stars,  long  as  a  tree  and  big  around  as  a  pig.  Miope 
has  people  upon  it." 

"Are  they  Marquesans  ?" 

"They  must  be  Marquesans  for  there  are  islands,"  I 
replied. 

"And  popoi  and  pigs?"  demanded  the  ena-perfumed 
one. 

"Namu?  Have  they  rum?"  whispered  the  Ghost 
Girl,  and  nestled  closer,  remembering  that  soon  we 
would  be  at  my  own  house. 

I  had  confidence  in  Tetuahunahuna's  stars.  The 
Polynesians  have  always  had  an  excellent  working 
knowledge  of  the  heavens  and  were  deeply  interested 
in  astronomy.  They  knew  the  relative  positions  of  the 
stars,  their  changes  and  phases.  They  predicted 
weather  changes  accurately,  and  kept  in  their  memories 
periodicity  charts  so  that  they  are  able  to  form  estimates 
of  what  will  be,  by  considering  what  has  been.  They 
had  a  wonderful  art  of  navigation,  considering  that  they 
had  no  compass,  sextant,  or  other  instrument,  and  that 
their  vessels  were  always  comparatively  small.  The 
handling  of  canoes,  like  swimming,  is  instinctive  with 
them,  and  no  white  ever  compares  with  them  in  skill. 

Our  boat  doubled  Point  Teachoa,  and  we  were  in 
the  Bay  of  Traitors.  The  wind  suddenly  fell  flat,  and 
we  rowed  several  miles  to  the  beach.  A  score  of  lights 
moved  about  on  the  dark  waters  of  the  bay,  and  fisher- 
men shouted  to  us  to  come  to  them.  We  found  Great 
Fern,  my  landlord,  with  Apporo,  Broken  Plate  with 
the  Vagabond,  and  they  had  several  canoes  full  of  fish. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  399 

They  were  delighted  at  my  return,  and  rubbed  noses 
with  me  over  the  gunwales. 

Getting  ashore  at  the  stone  steps  of  Taka-Uka  was 
a  task  worthy  of  such  boatsmen,  in  the  darkness,  the 
sea  beating  madly  against  the  cliffs.  Tetuahunahuna 
listened  to  the  smashing  waves  and  peered  for  the 
blacker  outlines  of  the  stairway  and  the  faint  gleam  of 
the  foam.  The  boat  approached;  the  sea  leaped  to 
break  it  against  the  rocks.  The  steersman  held  it  a 
second,  and  in  that  second  you  had  to  leap.  It  is  touch 
and  go,  and  heaven  help  you!  If  you  miss,  you  fall 
into  the  sea,  or  the  boat  crushes  you  against  the  rocks. 
The  swell  sweeps  the  place  you  land  on,  and  you  must 
ascend  quickly  to  safety  or  find  hold  against  the  suck 
of  the  retiring  water. 

Tetuahunahuna  ran  to  the  nearest  house  for  a  lan- 
tern and  poles,  and  while  two  remained  in  the  boat  to 
hold  it  off  the  rocks,  the  others  carried  my  luggage  to 
Atuona.  I  took  the  lead  in  a  drizzling  rain,  carrying 
the  light,  mighty  glad  to  stretch  my  legs  after  more  than 
a  dozen  hours  of  cramp.  Passing  the  house  of  the  chief  - 
of-police,  I  heard  laughter  and  the  clink  of  glasses. 
Bauda  halted  me  with  a  leveled  revolver,  thinking  we 
were  a  rum-smuggling  gang.  That  brave  African  sol- 
dier was  ever  dramatic,  and  D'Artagnan  could  not  have 
struck  a  finer  attitude  as  he  thrust  the  gun  in  my  face 
and  called  out,  "Halte  la!" 

"Ah,  c'est  le  Yahnk'  DoodF.  Mais  tonnerre  de  dieu, 
you  have  been  away  a  long  time!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Sea  sports;  curious  sea-foods  found  at  low  tide;  the  peculiarities  of  sea- 
centipedes  and  how  to  cook  and  eat  them. 

WITH  what  delight  I  returned  to  lazy  days 
in  Atuona  Valley,  lounging  on  the  black 
paepae  of  my  own  small  blue  cabin  in  the 
shadow  of  Temiteu,  idling  on  the  sun-warm  sands  of 
the  familiar  beach,  walking  the  remembered  road  be- 
tween banana  hedges  heavy  with  yellowing  fruit !  The 
heart  of  man  puts  down  roots  wherever  it  rests;  it 
is  perhaps  this  sense  of  home  that  gives  the  zest  to 
wandering,  for  new  experiences  gain  their  value  from 
contrast  with  the  old,  and  one  must  have  felt  the  bond- 
age, however  light,  of  emotion  and  habit  before  he  can 
know  the  joy  of  freedom  from  it.  Still  a  man  leaves 
part  of  himself  in  every  home  he  makes,  and  the  wan- 
derer, free  of  the  one  strong  cord  that  would  hold  him 
to  one  place,  feels  always  the  urge  of  a  thousand  slen- 
der ties  pulling  him  back  to  the  thousand  temporary 
homes  he  has  made  everywhere  on  the  world. 

So  the  old  routine  closed  around  me  pleasantly ;  morn- 
ings in  the  shade  of  my  palms  and  breadfruit,  eating 
the  breakfasts  prepared  for  me  by  Exploding  Eggs 
over  the  fire  of  cocoanut  husks,  baths  in  the  clear  pool 
of  the  river  with  my  neighbors,  afternoons  spent  in  the 
cocoanut-groves  or  with  merry  companions  on  the  beach. 
Exploding  Eggs  directed  the  surf  board  with  a  sure 
hand,  lying  flat,  kneeling  or  even  standing  on  the  long 

400 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  401 

plank  as  he  came  in  on  the  crest  of  the  breakers.  I 
had  now  and  again  succeeded  in  being  carried  along 
while  flat  on  my  stomach  on  the  board,  but  failed  many 
times  oftener  than  I  succeeded.  Now  I  set  myself  in 
earnest  to  learn  the  art  of  mastering  the  surf. 

Three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  was  the  time 
I  usually  chose  for  the  sport,  and  once  I  had  made  it  a 
practice,  all  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  village  accom- 
panied me,  or  waited  for  me  at  the  shore,  sure  of  hila- 
rious hours.  I  must  make  children  my  companions 
here,  for  my  older  friends  were  so  oppressed  by  the 
gloom  of  race  extinction  that  save  for  Malicious  Gossip 
and  one  or  two  others,  there  was  no  capacity  for  joyous- 
ness  left  in  them.  Exploding  Eggs  was  my  chum,  paid 
as  forager  and  firemaker,  but  giving  from  friendliness 
his  services  as  a  wise  and  admirable  teacher  of  the  un- 
known to  one  unmade  by  civilization. 

The  bay  of  Atuona,  narrow  between  high  cliffs  cov- 
ered with  cocoanut-trees,  was  the  scene  of  my  lessons. 
The  tide  came  booming  into  this  cove  from  the  Bay  of 
Traitors,  often  with  bewildering  force,  and  a  day  or 
two  a  month  as  gently  as  the  waves  at  Waikiki.  The 
river  spread  a  broad  mouth  to  drink  the  brine,  and  the 
white  sand  was  over-run  by  the  flowered  vines  that  crept 
seaward  to  taste  the  salt.  No  house  was  in  sight,  no 
man-made  structure  to  mar  the  primitive,  as  our  merry 
crew  of  boys  and  girls  sported  naked  in  the  surf,  fished 
from  the  rocks,  or  lay  upon  the  shining  beach. 

For  my  first  essay  I  used  the  lid  of  a  box  that  had 
enclosed  an  ornate  coffin  ordered  from  Tahiti  by  a  chief 
who  anticipated  dying.  It  was  large,  and  weighty  to 
drag  or  push  through  the  surf  to  the  proper  distance. 


402  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Laboring  valiantly  with  it,  I  reached  some  distance  from 
the  shore,  and  prepared  a  triumphal  return.  The  waves 
were  big,  curving  above  me  in  sheets  of  clearest  emerald 
crested  with  spray,  breaking  into  foam  and  rising  again, 
endlessly  reshaping,  repeating  themselves. 

Awaiting  my  opportunity,  I  chose  one  as  it  rose  be- 
hind me,  and  flung  myself  upon  it.  Up  and  up  and 
still  higher  I  went,  carried  by  resistless  momentum,  and 
suddenly  like  a  chip  in  a  hurricane  I  was  flung  forward 
at  a  fearsome  speed,  through  rushing  chaos  of  wind  and 
water,  seeing  the  beach  dashing  toward  me,  shouting 
with  exultation. 

At  the  next  instant  my  trusty  board  turned  traitor. 
Its  prow  sank,  the  end  beneath  me  rose,  and  like  a  stone 
discharged  from  a  sling  I  was  thrown  under  the  waves, 
head  over  heels,  banging  my  head  and  body  on  the 
sand,  leaped  upon  by  following  waves  that  piled  me  into 
shallow  water,  rolling  me  over  and  over,  striking  me  a 
blow  with  the  coffin-lid  at  every  roll. 

I  lay  high  and  dry,  panting  and  aching,  while  from 
all  the  beach  rose  shouts  of  laughter.  Exploding 
Eggs  rolled  on  the  sand  in  his  delight,  holding  his  gasp- 
ing sides,  scarcely  able  to  remind  me  of  the  necessity, 
which  in  my  excitement  I  had  forgotten,  of  keeping 
the  prow  of  the  board  pointed  upward  as  I  rode. 

Often  as  I  repeated  this  instruction  in  my  mind, 
firmly  as  I  determined  to  remember  it  while  I  toiled 
sea-ward  again  with  the  coffin-lid,  the  result  was  always 
the  same.  A  moment  of  rest  in  the  unresting  waves, 
a  quick,  agile  spring,  a  moment  of  mad,  intoxicating  joy, 
and  then — disaster.  I  became  a  mass  of  bruises,  the 
skin  scraped  inch  by  inch  from  my  chest  by  contact 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  403 

with  the  rough  wood.  I  would  not  give  up  until  I  had 
to,  and  then  for  a  week  I  was  convalescing. 

One  stiff  ache  from  head  to  foot,  I  lay  ignominiously 
on  the  sand,  and  watched  Exploding  Eggs,  with  a  piece 
of  box  not  bigger  than  a  fat  man's  shirt-front,  take 
wave  after  wave,  standing  on  the  board,  dashing  far 
across  the  breakers  to  the  shore,  with  never  a  failure, 
while  Gedge's  little  half-breed  daughter,  a  beautiful 
fairy-like  creature,  darted  upon  the  sea  as  a  butterfly 
upon  a  zephyr. 

After  several  weeks  of  effort  and  mishap,  one  day 
the  secret  came  to  me  like  a  flash,  and  the  trick  was 
learned.  I  had  been  using  the  great  board  and  was 
weary.  I  exchanged  with  Exploding  Eggs  for  a  plank 
three  feet  long  and  fourteen  inches  wide.  Almost  ex- 
hausted, I  waited  as  usual  with  the  butt  of  the  board 
against  my  stomach  for  the  incoming  breaker  to  be  just 
behind  and  above  me,  and  then  leaped  forward  to  kick 
out  vigorously,  the  board  pressed  against  me  and  my 
hands  extended  along  its  sides,  to  get  in  time  with  the 
wave. 

But  the  wave  was  upon  me  before  I  had  thought  to 
execute  these  instructions,  I  straightened  myself  out 
rigidly,  and  lo!  I  shot  in  like  a  torpedo  on  the  very 
top  of  the  billow,  holding  the  point  of  the  board  up, 
yelling  like  a  Comanche  Indian.  So  fast,  so  straight 
did  I  go,  that  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  swerve  in  the 
shallow  water  and  not  be  hurled  with  force  on  the  sand. 

"Metai!  Me  metai!"  cried  my  friends  in  excited  con- 
gratulation, while  like  all  men  who  succeed  by  accident, 
I  stood  proudly,  taking  the  plaudits  as  my  due. 

From  that  afternoon  I  had  most  exhilarating  sport, 


404  WHITE  SHADOWS 

and  indeed,  this  is  the  very  king  of  amusements  for  fun 
and  exercise.  Skeeing,  tobogganing,  skating,  all  land 
sports  fade  before  the  thrills  of  this;  nor  will  anything 
give  such  abounding  health  and  joy  in  living  as  surf- 
riding  in  sunny  seas. 

A  hundred  afternoons  on  Atuona  Bay  I  spent  in  this 
exhilarating  pastime.  To  it  we  added  embellishments, 
multiplying  excitements.  A  score  of  us  would  start  at 
the  same  moment  from  the  same  line  and  race  to  shore ; 
we  would  carry  two  on  a  board;  we  would  stand  and 
kneel  and  direct  our  course  so  that  we  could  touch  a 
marked  spot  on  the  beach  or  curve  about  and  swerve  and 
jostle  each  other.  Exploding  Eggs  was  the  king  of  us 
all,  and  Teata  was  queen.  She  advanced  as  effortlessly 
as  a  mermaid,  her  superb  figure  shining  on  the  shining 
water,  tossing  her  long  black  hair,  and  shrieking  with 
delight. 

Occasionally  we  varied  these  sports  by  a  much  more 
dangerous  and  arduous  game.  We  would  push  our 
boards  far  out  in  the  bay,  half  a  mile  or  more,  diving  un- 
der each  wave  we  faced,  until  after  tremendous  effort  we 
reached  the  farthest  sea-ward  line  of  breakers.  Often 
while  I  swam,  clinging  to  the  board  and  struggling  with 
the  waves  for  its  possession,  I  saw  in  the  emerald  water 
curling  above  me  the  shadowy  shapes  of  large  fish,  car- 
ried on  the  crests  of  the  combers,  transfigured  clearly 
against  the  sky,  fins  and  heads  and  tails  outlined  with 
light. 

Once  in  smoother  water  we  waited  for  the  proper  mo- 
ment, counting  the  foam-crests  as  they  passed.  Waves 
go  in  multiples  of  three,  the  third  being  longer  and 
going  farther  than  the  two  before  it,  and  the  ninth,  or 


, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  405 

third  third,  being  strongest  of  all.  This  ninth  wave  we 
waited  for.  Choosing  any  other  meant  being  spilled  in 
tumbling  water  when  it  broke  far  from  land,  and  fall- 
ing prey  to  the  succeeding  ones,  which  bruised  unmerci- 
fully. 

But  taking  the  ninth  monster  at  its  start,  we  rode 
marvelously,  staying  at  its  summit  as  it  mounted  higher 
and  higher,  shouting  above  the  lesser  rollers,  until  it 
dashed  upon  the  smooth  sand  half  a  mile  away.  Ex- 
ultation kept  the  heart  in  the  throat,  the  pulses  beating 
wildly,  as  the  breaker  tore  its  way  over  the  foaming  rol- 
lers, I  on  the  roof  of  the  swell,  lying  almost  over  its 
front  wall,  holding  like  death  to  my  plank  while  the 
wind  sang  in  my  ears  and  sky  and  sea  mingled  in  rush- 
ing blueness. 

To  take  such  a  ride  twice  in  an  afternoon  taxed  my 
strength,  but  the  Marquesan  boys  and  girls  were  never 
wearied,  and  laughed  at  my  violent  breathing. 

The  Romans  ranked  swimming  with  letters,  saying  of 
an  uneducated  man,  "Nee  literas  didicit  nee  natare." 
He  had  neither  learned  to  read  nor  to  swim.  The  sea 
is  the  book  of  the  South  Sea  Islanders.  They  swim  as 
they  walk,  beginning  as  babies  to  dive  and  to  frolic  in  the 
water.  Their  mothers  place  them  on  the  river  bank  at 
a  day  old,  and  in  a  few  months  they  are  swimming  in 
shallow  water.  At  two  and  three  years  they  play  in 
the  surf,  swimming  with  the  easy  motion  of  a  frog. 
They  have  no  fear  of  the  water  to  overcome,  for  they 
are  accustomed  to  the  element  from  birth,  and  it  is  to 
them  as  natural  as  land. 

It  should  be  so  with  all,  for  human  locomotion  in 
water  is  no  more  tiresome  or  difficult  than  on  the  earth. 


406  WHITE  SHADOWS 

One  element  is  as  suitable  to  man  as  the  other  for  trans- 
portation of  himself,  when  habitude  give  natural  move- 
ment, strength,  and  fearlessness.  A  Marquesan  who 
cannot  swim  is  unknown,  and  they  carry  objects  through 
the  water  as  easily  as  through  a  grove.  I  have  seen  a 
woman  with  an  infant  at  her  breast  leap  from  a  canoe 
and  swim  through  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  breakers  to  the 
shore,  merely  to  save  a  somewhat  longer  walk. 

One's  hours  at  the  beach  were  not  all  spent  in  the  water 
Many  were  the  curious  and  delicious  morsels  we  found 
on  the  rocks  that  were  uncovered  at  low  tide,  stranded 
fish,  crabs,  and  small  crawling  shell-fish.  One  of  our 
favorites  was  the  sea-urchin,  called  liatuke,  fetuke,  or 
matuke.  Round,  as  big  as  a  Bartlett  pear,  with  green- 
ish spines  five  or  six  inches  long,  they  were  as  hideous  to 
see  as  they  were  pleasant  to  eat.  In  the  last  quarter  of 
the  moon  they  were  specially  good,  though  what  the 
moon  has  to  do  with  their  flavor  neither  the  Marquesans 
nor  I  know.  It  is  so;  the  Marquesans  have  always 
known  it,  and  I  have  proved  it. 

The  spines  of  these  sea-urchins  make  slate-pencils  in 
some  of  the  islands,  and  are  excellent  for  hastily  writing 
on  a  nearby  cliff  a  message  to  a  friend  who  is  following 
tardily.  The  creatures  are  poisonous  when  alive,  how- 
ever, and  revenge  a  blow  of  careless  hand  or  foot  by 
wounds  that  are  long  in  healing. 

We  found  lobsters  among  the  rocks,  too,  and  on  some 
beaches  a  strange  kind  of  lobsterish  delicacy  called  in 
Tahiti  varo,  a  kind  of  mantis-shrimp  that  looks  like  a 
superlatively  villainous  centipede.  They  grow  from 
six  to  twelve  inches  long  and  a  couple  of  inches  wide, 
with  legs  or  feelers  all  along  their  sides,  like  the  teeth  of 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  407 

a  pocket-comb.  Their  shells  are  translucent  yellow 
with  black  markings ;  the  female  wears  a  red  stripe  down 
her  back  and  carries  red  eggs  beneath  her.  Both  she 
and  her  mate,  with  their  thousand  crawling  legs,  their 
hideous  heads  and  tails,  have  a  most  repulsive  appear- 
ance. If  one  did  not  know  they  are  excellent  food  and 
most  innocent  in  their  habits,  one  would  flee  precipitately 
at  sight  of  them. 

Catching  the  varo  is  a  delicate  and  skilful  art.  They 
live  in  the  shallows  near  the  beach,  digging  their  holes  in 
the  sand  under  two  or  three  feet  of  water.  When  the 
wind  ruffles  the  surface,  it  is  impossible  to  see  the  holes, 
but  on  calm  days  we  waded  knee-deep  in  the  clear 
water,  stepping  carefully  and  peering  intently  for  the 
homes  of  the  sea-centipede.  Finding  one,  we  cauti- 
ously lowered  into  the  hole  a  spool  fitted  with  a  dozen 
hooks. 

A  pair  of  the  creatures  inhabits  the  same  den.  If  the 
male  was  at  home,  he  seized  the  grapnel  and  was  quickly 
lifted  and  captured,  the  hooks  being  lowered  again  for 
the  female.  But  if  the  female  emerged  first,  it  was  a 
sure  sign  that  her  mate  was  absent. 

I  pondered  as  to  this  habit  of  the  varo,  and  would 
have  liked  to  persuade  me  that  the  male,  being  a  courte- 
ous shrimp,  combatted  the  invading  hooks  first  in  an 
effort  to  protect  his  mate.  But  the  grapnel  is  baited 
with  fish,  and  though  masculine  pride  could  wish  that 
chivalry  urged  the  creature  to  defend  his  domestic 
shrine,  it  appears  regrettably  certain  that  he  is  merely 
after  the  bait,  to  which  he  clings  with  such  selfish  ob- 
stinacy that  he  sacrifices  his  liberty  and  his  life.  How- 
ever, the  lady  soon  shows  the  same  grasping  tendency, 


408  WHITE  SHADOWS 

and  their  deserted  tenement  is  filled  by  the  shifting 
sands. 

Catching  varo  calls  for  much  patience  and  dexterity. 
I  never  succeeded  in  landing  one,  but  Teata  would  often 
skip  back  to  the  sands  of  the  beach  with  a  string  of  them. 
Six  would  make  a  good  meal,  with  bread  and  wine,  and 
they  are  most  enjoyable  hot,  though  also  most  danger- 
ous. 

"Begin  their  eating  by  sucking  one  cold,"  warned  Ex- 
ploding Eggs  when  presiding  over  my  first  feast  upon 
the  twelve-inch  centipedes.  "If  he  does  not  grip  you 
inwardly,  you  may  then  eat  them  hot  and  in  great  num- 
bers." 

Many  white  men  can  not  eat  the  varo.  Some  lose 
appetite  at  its  appearance,  its  likeness  to  a  gigantic 
thousand-leg,  and  others  find  that  it  rests  uneasy  within 
them,  as  though  each  claw,  or  tooth  of  the  comb,  viciously 
stabbed  their  interiors.  I  found  them  excellent  when 
wrapped  in  leaves  of  the  hotu-tree  and  fried  in  brown 
butter,  and  they  were  very  good  when  broiled  over  a 
fire  on  the  beach.  One  takes  the  beastie  in  his  fingers 
and  sucks  out  the  meat.  Beginners  should  keep  their 
eyes  closed  during  this  operation. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

Court  day  in  Atuona;  the  case  of  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon  and  the  sewing- 
machine;  the  story  of  the  perfidy  of  Drink  of  Beer  and  the  death  of 
Earth  Worm  who  tried  to  kill  the  governor. 

THE  Marquesan  was  guaranteed  his  day  in  court. 
There  was  one  judge  in  the  archipelago  and  one 
doctor,  and  they  were  the  same,  being  united  in 
the  august  person  of  M.  L'Hermier  des  Plantes,  who 
was  also  the  pharmacist.  The  jolly  governor,  in  his 
twenties,  with  medical  experience  in  an  African  army 
post  and  in  barracks  in  France,  was  irked  by  his  judicial 
and  administrative  duties,  though  little  troubled  by  his 
medical  functions,  since  he  had  few  drugs  and  knew  that 
unless  these  were  swallowed  by  the  patient  in  his  pres- 
ence they  would  be  tried  upon  the  pigs  or  worn  as  an 
amulet  around  the  neck.  Faithful  to  his  orders,  how- 
ever, the  judge  sat  upon  the  woolsack  Saturdays,  unless 
it  was  raining  or  he  wished  to  shoot  kuku. 

One  Saturday  morning,  being  invited  to  breakfast  at 
the  palace,  I  strolled  down  to  observe  the  workings  of 
justice.  Court  was  called  to  order  in  the  archives  room 
of  the  governor's  house.  The  judge  sat  at  a  large  table, 
resplendent  in  army  blue  and  gold,  with  cavalry  boots 
and  spurs,  his  whiskers  shining,  his  demeanor  grave  and 
stern.  Bauda,  clerk  of  the  court,  sat  at  his  right,  and 
Peterano,  a  native  catechist,  stood  opposite  him  attired 
in  blue  overalls  and  a  necklace  of  small  green  nuts, 
ready  to  act  as  interpreter. 

Each  defendant,  plaintiff,  prisoner,  and  witness  was 

409 


410  WHITE  SHADOWS 

sworn  impressively,  though  no  Bible  was  used;  which  re- 
minded me  that  in  Hongkong  I  saw  a  defendant  refuse 
to  handle  a  Bible  in  court,  and  when  the  irate  English 
judge  demanded  his  reasons,  calmly  replied  that  the 
witness  who  had  just  laid  down  the  book  had  the  plague, 
and  it  was  so  proved. 

The  first  case  was  that  of  a  Chinese,  member  of  the 
Shan-Shan  syndicate  which  owned  a  store  in  Atuona. 
He  was  charged  with  shooting  kukus  without  a  license. 
There  were  not  many  of  these  small  green  doves  left  in 
the  islands,  and  the  governor,  whose  favorite  sport  and 
delicacy  they  were,  was  righteously  angered  at  the 
Chinaman's  infraction  of  the  law.  He  fined  the  culprit 
twenty  dollars,  and  confiscated  to  the  realm  the  murder- 
ous rifle  which  had  aided  the  crime. 

The  Shan- Shan  man  was  stunned,  and  expostulated 
so  long  that  he  was  led  out  by  Flag,  the  gendarme,  after 
being  informed  that  he  might  appeal  to  Tahiti.  He 
was  forcibly  put  off  the  veranda,  struggling  to  explain 
that  he  had  not  shot  the  gun,  but  had  merely  carried  it  as 
a  reserve  weapon  in  case  he  should  meet  a  Chinese  with 
whom  he  had  a  feud. 

A  sailor  of  the  schooner  Roberta,  who  had  stolen  a 
case  of  absinthe  from  Captain  Capriata's  storeroom 
aboard  and  destroyed  the  peace  of  a  valley  to  which  he 
took  it  as  a  present  to  a  feminine  friend,  was  fined  five 
dollars  and  sentenced  to  four  months'  work  on  the  roads. 

The  criminal  docket  done,  civil  cases  were  called. 
The  barefooted  bailiff,  Flag,  stole  out  on  the  veranda 
occasionally  to  take  a  cigarette  from  the  inhabitants  of 
the  valley  of  Taaoa,  who  crowded  the  lawn  around  the 
veranda  steps.  All  save  Kahuiti,  they  had  come  over 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  411 

the  mountains  to  attend  in  a  body  a  trial  in  which  two 
of  them  figured — the  case  of  Santos  vs.  Tahiaupehe 
(Daughter  of  the  Pigeon). 

Santos  was  a  small  man,  born  in  Guam,  and  had  been 
ten  years  in  Taaoa,  having  deserted  from  a  ship.  He 
and  I  talked  on  the  veranda  in  Spanish,  and  he  ex- 
plained the  desperate  plight  into  which  love  had  dragged 
him.  He  adored  Tahaiupehe,  the  belle  of  Taaoa.  For 
months  he  had  poured  at  her  feet  all  his  earnings,  and 
faithfully  he  had  labored  at  copra-making  to  gain  money 
for  her.  He  had  lavished  upon  her  all  his  material 
wealth  and  the  fierce  passion  of  his  Malay  heart,  only 
to  find  her  disdainful,  untrue,  and,  at  last,  a  runaway. 
While  he  was  in  the  forest,  he  said,  climbing  cocoanut- 
trees  to  provide  her  with  luxuries,  she  had  fled  his  hut, 
carrying  with  her  a  certain  "Singaire"  and  a  trunk. 
He  was  in  court  to  regain  this  property. 

"Ben  Santos  me  Tahaiupehe  mave!  A  mai  i  nei!" 
cried  Flag,  pompously.  The  pair  entered  the  court,  but 
all  others  were  excluded  except  me.  As  a  distinguished 
visitor,  waiting  to  breakfast  with  the  judge  and  the 
clerk,  I  had  a  seat. 

The  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon,  comely  and  voluptuous, 
wore  an  expression  of  brazen  bitterness  such  as  I  have 
seen  on  the  faces  of  few  women.  A  procuress  in  White- 
chapel  and  a  woman  in  America  who  had  poisoned  half 
a  dozen  of  her  kin  had  that  same  look ;  sneering,  desper- 
ate, contemptuous,  altogether  evil.  I  wondered  what 
experiences  had  written  those  lines  on  the  handsome  face 
of  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon. 

Ben  Santos  was  sworn.  Through  the  interpreter  he 
told  his  sad  tale  of  devotion  and  desertion  and  asked  for 


412  WHITE  SHADOWS 

his  property.  The  Singaire  had  been  bought  of  the 
German  store.  He  had  bought  it  that  Daughter  of  the 
Pigeon  might  mend  his  garments,  since  she  had  refused 
to  do  so  without  it.  He  had  not  given  it  to  her  at  all, 
but  allowed  her  the  use  of  it  in  consideration  of  "love 
and  affection"  he  swore. 

Daughter  of  the  Pigeon  glared  at  the  unhappy  little 
man  with  an  intensity  of  hatred  that  alarmed  me  for  his 
life.  She  took  the  stand,  malevolently  handsome  in 
finery  of  pink  tunic,  gold  ear-rings,  and  necklace  of  red 
peppers,  barefooted,  bare-armed,  barbaric.  She  spat 
out  her  words. 

"This  man  made  love  to  me  and  lived  with  me.  He 
gave  me  the  sewing-machine  and  the  trunk.  He  is  a 
runt  and  a  pig,  and  I  am  tired  of  him.  I  left  his  hut 
and  went  to  the  house  of  my  father.  I  took  my  Singaire 
and  my  trunk." 

"Ben  Santos,"  inquired  the  judge,  with  a  critical 
glance  at  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon,  "What  return  did 
you  make  to  this  woman  for  keeping  your  house?" 

"I  provided  her  food  and  her  dresses,"  stammered  the 
little  man. 

"Food  hangs  from  trees,  and  dresses  are  a  few  yards 
of  stuff,"  said  the  surgical  Solomon.  "The  fair  ones 
of  the  Marquesas  do  not  give  themselves  to  men  of  your 
plainness  for  popoi  and  muslin  robes.  You  are  a  for- 
eigner. You  expect  too  much.  The  preponderance  of 
probability,  added  to  the  weight  of  testimony,  causes  the 
court  to  believe  that  this  woman  is  the  real  owner  of  the 
sewing-machine  and  the  trunk.  It  is  so  adjudged." 

ffLa  mujer  es  una  diabola,  pero  me  gusto  mucho" 


Tahaiupehe,  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon,  of  Taaoa 


Nataro  Puelleray  and  wife 

He  is  the  most  learned  Marquesan  and  the  only  one  who  knows  the  language  and 
legends  thoroughly 


IN  *THE  SOUTH  SEAS  413 

said  Santos  to  me,  and  sighed  deeply.  "The  woman  is 
a  devil,  but  I  like  her  very  much." 

The  unfortunate  Malay  got  upon  his  horse  and,  his 
soul  deep  in  the  swamp  of  jealousy,  departed  to  resume 
his  copra-making. 

Court  adjourned.  The  judge,  the  clerk,  and  the  in- 
terpreter, Daughter  of  the  Pigeon,  and  I  toasted  the 
blind  goddess  in  rum,  the  sun  being  very  hot  on  the  iron 
roof.  Bauda  and  I  stayed  to  breakfast  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  the  governor  permitted  me  to  look  through  the 
dossier  of  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon.  This  record  is  kept 
of  all  Marquesans  or  others  resident  in  the  islands ;  each 
governor  adds  his  facts  and  prejudices  and  each  new- 
coming  official  finds  the  history  and  reputation  of  each 
of  his  charges  set  down  for  his  perusal.  In  this  record 
of  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon  I  found  the  reason  for  the 
malevolent  character  depicted  by  her  face. 

The  men  of  the  hills  have  a  terrible  custom  of  captur- 
ing any  woman  of  another  valley  who  goes  alone  in  their 
district.  Grelet's  first  companion  was  caught  one  night 
by  forty,  who  for  punishment  built  the  ten  kilometres 
of  road  between  Haniapa  and  Atuona.  Many  Daugh- 
ters, the  beautiful  little  leper,  when  thirteen  years  old 
was  a  victim  of  seventeen  men,  some  of  whom  were  im- 
prisoned. Daughter  of  the  Pigeon  had  had  a  fearful 
experience  of  this  kind.  It  had  seared  her  soul,  and 
Santos  was  paying  for  his  sex. 

In  feud  times  this  custom  was  a  form  of  retaliation,  as 
the  slaying  of  men  and  eating  them.  It  has  survived  as 
a  sport.  Lest  horror  should  spend  itself  upon  these  na- 
tives of  the  islands,  I  mention  that  in  every  state  in  our 


414  WHITE  SHADOWS 

union  similar  records  blacken  our  history.  War's  pages 
from  the  first  glimmerings  to  the  last  foul  moment  reek 
with  this  deviltry.  British  and  French  at  Badajoz  and 
Tarragona,  in  Spain,  left  fearful  memories.  Occident 
and  Orient  alike  are  guilty.  This  crime  smutches  the 
chronicle  of  every  invasion.  It  is  part  of  the  degrada- 
tion of  slums  in  all  our  cities,  a  sport  of  hoodlum  gangs 
everywhere.  In  the  Marquesas  it  is  a  recognized, 
though  forbidden,  game,  and  has  its  retaliatory  side. 
Time  was  when  troops  of  women  have  revenged  it  in 
strange,  savage  ways. 

This  unsubmissive  and  aggressive  attitude  of  Mar- 
quesan  women  was  brought  home  to  me  this  very  after- 
noon after  the  trial,  when  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon  came 
galloping  up  to  my  cabin.  She  reined  in  her  horse  like 
a  cowboy  who  had  lassoed  a  steer  and,  throwing  the 
bridle  over  the  branch  of  an  orange-tree,  tripped  into 
my  living-room,  where  I  was  writing. 

Without  a  word  she  put  her  arms  around  me,  and  in 
a  moment  I  was  enacting  the  part  of  Joseph  when  he 
fled  from  Potiphar's  wife.  With  some  muscular  exer- 
tion I  got  her  out  of  the  house  at  the  cost  of  my  shirt. 
Puafaufe  (Drink  of  Beer),  a  chief  of  Taaoa,  appeared 
at  this  moment,  while  I  was  still  struggling  with  her 
upon  my  paepae. 

"Makimaki  okioki  i  te!  An  ungovernable  creature !" 
he  commented,  shaking  his  head,  and  looking  on  with 
interest  as  she  again  attacked  me  vigorously,  to  the  dan- 
ger of  my  remaining  shreds  of  garments.  Chivalry  is 
not  a  primitive  emotion,  but  it  dies  hard  in  the  civilized 
brain,  and  I  was  attempting  the  impossible.  Fending 
her  off  as  best  I  could,  I  conjured  the  chief  by  the  red 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  415 

stripe  on  the  sleeve  of  his  white  jacket,  his  badge  of  of- 
fice, to  rescue  me,  for  Madame  Bapp  was  now  on  her 
paepae,  craning  her  fat  neck,  and  I  had  no  mind  to  be 
laughed  at  by  my  own  tint. 

The  chief,  however,  maintained  the  impartial  attitude 
of  the  bystander  at  a  street  fight.  Smothered  in  the  em- 
braces of  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon,  covered  with  embar- 
rassment, I  struggled  and  cursed,  and  had  desperately 
decided  to  fling  her  bodily  over  the  eight-foot  wall  of 
the  paepae  into  the  jungle,  when  another  arrival  dashed 
up  the  trail.  This  was  the  brother  of  Daughter  of  the 
Pigeon. 

It  was  evident  that  my  cabin  had  been  appointed  as  a 
rendezvous,  though  I  had  no  acquaintance  with  any  of 
my  three  visitors.  A  suspicion  was  born  in  my  dull 
brain.  To  make  it  surety,  I  grasped  my  feminine  wooer 
by  wrists  and  throat  and  thrust  her  into  the  arms  of  the 
chief  with  a  stern  injunction  to  hold  her.  Then,  with- 
out hint  of  my  intention,  I  hastened  into  the  house  and 
brought  forth  the  demijohn  and  cocoanut-shells. 

The  amorous  fury  of  Daughter  of  the  Pigeon  melted 
into  gratitude,  and  after  two  drinks  apiece  the  company 
galloped  away,  leaving  me  to  repair  tattered  garments 
and  thank  my  stars  for  my  supply  of  namu. 

But  the  end  of  court-day  was  not  yet.  I  had  barely 
fallen  into  my  first  slumber  that  night  when  I  was  awak- 
ened by  the  disconsolate  Shan-Shan  man,  who  came 
humbly  to  present  me  with  a  half-pound  doughnut  of  his 
own  making,  and  to  beg  my  intercession  with  the  gov- 
ernor for  the  return  of  his  gun.  He  reiterated  tearfully 
that  he  had  not  meant  to  shoot  kuk.us  with  it,  that  he  had 
not  done  so,  that  he  desired  it  only  in  order  to  be  able  to 


416  WHITE  SHADOWS 

take  a  pot-shot  at  the  offending  countryman  in  the  vil- 
lage. He  urged  desperately  that  the  other  Chinese  still 
possessed  a  gun  well  oiled  and  loaded.  He  asserted 
even  with  tears  that  he  had  all  respect  and  admiration 
for  the  white  man's  law.  But  he  wanted  his  gun,  and 
he  wanted  it  quickly. 

I  calmed  him  with  the  twice-convenient  namu,  and 
after  promising  to  explain  the  situation  to  the  governor, 
I  sat  for  some  time  on  my  paepae  in  the  moonlight,  talk- 
ing with  the  unhappy  convict.  Without  prompting  he 
divulged  to  me  that  my  suspicions  had  been  correct; 
Drink  of  Beer  had  himself  instigated  the  raid  of  the  bold 
Daughter  of  the  Pigeon  upon  my  rum.  Drink  of  Beer, 
it  appeared,  was  known  in  the  islands  for  many  feats  of 
successful  duplicity.  One  had  nearly  cost  the  life  of 
Jean  Richard,  a  young  Frenchman  who  worked  for  the 
German  trader  in  Taka-Uka. 

"Earth  Worm  was  a  man  of  Taaoa,"  said  my  guest, 
sitting  cross-legged  on  my  mats,  his  long-nailed,  yellow 
fingers  folded  in  his  lap.  "He  was  nephew  of  Pohue- 
toa,  eater  of  many  men.  Earth  Worm  was  arrested  by 
Drink  of  Beer  and  brought  before  the  former  governor, 
Lailheugue,  known  as  Little  Pig. 

"Drink  of  Beer  said  that  Earth  Worm  had  made 
namu  enata,  the  juice  of  the  flower  of  the  palm  that 
makes  men  mad.  Earth  Worm  swore  that  he  had  done 
no  wrong.  He  swore  that  Drink  of  Beer  had  allowed 
him,  for  a  price,  to  make  the  namu  enata,  and  that  Drink 
of  Beer  had  said  this  was  according  to  the  law.  But 
when  he  failed  to  pay  again,  Drink  of  Beer  had  arrested 
him. 

"Drink  of  Beer  said  this  not  not  true.     He  wore  the 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  417 

red  stripe  on  his  sleeve;  therefore  the  governor  Little 
Pig  said  that  Earth  Worm  lied,  and  sent  him  to  prison 
for  a  year. 

"Now  Earth  Worm  was  an  informed  man,  a  son  of 
many  chiefs,  and  himself  resolved  in  his  ways.  He  said 
that  he  would  speak  before  the  courts  of  Tahiti,  and  he 
would  not  go  in  shame  to  the  prison.  At  this  time  that 
governor  was  finished  with  his  work  here  and  was  de- 
parting on  a  ship  to  Tahiti,  and  Earth  Worm  with  hate 
in  his  heart,  embarked  on  that  ship,  saying  nothing,  but 
thinking  much. 

"He  lived  forward  with  the  crew,  and  said  nothing, 
but  thought.  Others  spoke  to  him,  saying  that  he  would 
not  profit  by  the  journey  to  Tahiti  where  the  word  of  the 
governor  was  powerful,  but  he  did  not  reply.  The  men 
of  the  crew  wished  Earth  Worm  to  kill  the  governor,  for 
every  Marquesan  hated  him,  and  he  had  done  a  terrible 
thing  for  which  he  deserved  death. 

"There  had  been  an  aged  gendarme  who  fell  ill  be- 
cause of  a  curse  laid  on  him  by  a  tahuna.  He  was 
dying.  This  governor  took  from  his  box  in  the  house  of 
medicines  a  sharp  small  knife,  and  with  it  he  cut  the 
veins  of  a  Marquesan  who  had  done  some  small  wrong 
against  the  law  and  lay  in  jail.  He  bound  this  man  by 
the  arm  to  the  gendarme  who  was  dying,  and  through 
the  cut  the  blood  ran  into  the  gendarme's  veins.  His 
heart  sucked  the  blood  from  the  body  of  the  Marquesan 
like  a  vampire  bat  of  the  forest,  and  he  lay  bound,  feel- 
ing the  blood  go  from  him.  The  village  knew  that  this 
was  being  done,  and  could  do  nothing  but  hate  and  fear, 
for  it  was  the  governor  who  had  done  it. 

"The  gendarme  died,  and  you  may  yet  see  on  the 


418  WHITE  SHADOWS 

beach  sometimes  that  man  who  was  a  strong  and  brave 
Marquesan.  He  trembles  now  like  hotu  leaves  in  the 
wind,  for  he  never  forgets  the  terrible  magic  done  upon 
him  by  that  governor.  He  remembers  the  hours  when 
he  lay  bound  to  that  man  who  was  dying,  and  the  dying 
man  sucked  his  blood  from  him. 

"Now  this  governor  was  on  the  ship  going  away,  and 
he  had  not  been  killed.  This  made  all  Marquesans  sad, 
and  those  in  the  crew  talked  to  Earth  Worm,  who  had 
also  been  wronged,  and  urged  him  to  rise  and  strike. 
But  he  said  nothing. 

"The  ship  came  to  the  Paumotas,  and  the  governor  sat 
all  day  long  on  a  stool  on  the  deck,  watching  the  islands 
as  they  passed.  Earth  Worm  sat  in  his  place,  watch- 
ing the  governor.  One  night  at  dark  he  rose,  and  tak- 
ing an  iron  rod  laid  beside  him  by  one  of  the  crew  he 
crept  along  the  deck  and  stood  behind  the  man  on  the 
stool.  He  raised  the  iron  rod  and  brought  it  down  with 
fury  upon  the  head  of  that  man,  who  fell  covered  with 
blood.  Then  he  leaped  into  the  sea. 

"But  the  governor  had  gone  below,  and  it  was  Jean 
Richard  who  sat  on  the  stool  in  the  darkness.  He  was 
found  bleeding  upon  the  deck,  and  the  bones  of  his  head 
were  cut  and  lifted  and  patched,  so  that  to-day  he  lives, 
as  well  as  ever.  Earth  Worm  was  never  found.  A 
boat  with  a  lantern  was  lowered,  but  it  found  nothing 
but  the  fins  of  sharks. 

"That  was  the  work  of  Drink  of  Beer,  who  had  hated 
Earth  Worm  because  he  was  a  brave  and  strong  man  of 
Taaoa.  When  this  was  told  to  Drink  of  Beer,  he  smiled 
and  said,  'Earth  Worm  is  safer  where  he  is.' 

"I  have  talked  too  much.     Your  rum  is  very  good.     I 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  419 

thank  you  for  your  kindness.  You  will  not  forget  to 
deign  to  speak  to  the  governor  concerning  the  matter 
of  the  gun?" 

I  promised  that  I  would  not  forget,  and  after  a  pro- 
longed leavetaking  the  Shan- Shan  man  slipped  silently 
down  the  trail  and  vanished  in  the  moon-lit  forest. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

The  madman  Great  Moth  of  the  Night;  story  of  the  famine  and  the  one 
family  that  ate  pig. 

LE  BRUNNEC,  the  trader,  was  opening  a  roll 
of  Tahiti  tobacco  five  feet  long,  five  inches  in 
diameter  at  the  center,  and  tapering  toward  the 
ends.     It  was  bound,  as  is  all  Tahiti  tobacco,  in  a  purau 
rope,  which  had  to  be  unwound  and  which  weighed  two 
pounds.     The  eleven  pounds  of  tobacco  were  hard  as 
wood,  the  leaves  cemented  by  moisture.     Le  Brunnec 
hacked  it  with  an  axe  into  suitable  portions  to  sell  for 
three  francs  a  pound,  the  profit  on  which  is  a  franc. 

The  immediate  customer  was  Tavatini  (Many  Pieces 
of  Tattooing),  a  rich  man  of  Taaoa,  in  his  fifties.  His 
face  was  grilled  with  ama  ink.  One  streak  of  the  nat- 
ural skin  alone  remained.  Beside  him  on  the  counter 
sat  a  commanding-looking  man,  whose  eyes,  shining 
from  a  blue  background  of  tattooing,  were  signals  to 
make  one  step  aside  did  one  meet  him  on  the  trail. 
They  had  madness  in  them,  but  they  were  a  revelation 
of  wickedness. 

Some  men,  without  a  word  or  gesture,  make  you  think 
intently.  There  is  that  in  their  appearance  which  starts 
a  train  of  ideas,  of  wonder,  of  guesses  at  their  past,  of 
horror  at  what  is  written  upon  their  faces.  This  man's 
visage  was  seamed  and  wrinkled  in  a  network  of  lines 
that  said  more  plainly  than  words  that  he  was  a  monster 
whose  villainies  would  chill  imagination.  The  brain  was 
a  spoiled  machine,  but  it  had  been  all  for  evil. 

420 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  421 

"That  man,"  said  Le  Brunnec,  "is  the  worst  devil  in 
the  Marquesas."  Between  blows  of  the  axe,  the  trader 
told  me  something  of  his  history : 

The  madman  was  Mohuho,  whose  name  means  Great 
Moth  of  the  Night.  He  is  the  chief  whom  Lying  Bill 
saw  shoot  three  men  in  Tahuata  for  sheer  wantonness. 
He  was  then  chief  of  Tahuata,  and  the  power  in  that 
island,  in  Hiva-oa  and  Fatu-hiva.  He  slew  every  one 
who  opposed  him.  He  was  the  scourge"  of  the  islands. 
He  harried  valley  after  valley  for  lust  of  blood  and  the 
terrible  pride  of  the  destroyer.  It  was  his  boast  that  he 
had  killed  sixty  people  by  his  own  hand,  otherwise  than 
in  battle. 

He  was  a  man  of  ceaseless  energy,  a  builder  of  roads, 
of  houses,  and  canoes.  At  Hapatone  he  had  con- 
structed several  miles  of  excellent  road  with  the  en- 
forced labor  of  every  man  in  the  valley  for  a  year.  It 
is  all  lined  with  temanu  trees,  is  almost  solid  stone,  and 
endures.  Its  blocks  are  cemented  with  blood,  for  Great 
Moth  of  the  Night  drove  men  to  the  work  with  bullets. 

His  arsenal  was  stocked  by  the  French,  whose  ally  he 
was,  and  to  whom  he  was  very  useful  in  furnishing  men 
for  work  and  in  upholding  French  supremacy.  In 
Hapatone  he  was  virtually  a  king,  and  the  fear  of  him 
extended  throughout  the  southern  Marquesas. 

One  day  he  came  as  a  guest  to  a  feast  in  Taaoa. 
There  was  a  blind  man,  a  poor,  harmless  fellow,  who 
was  eating  the  pig  and  popoi  and  saying  nothing. 
Great  Night  Moth  had  a  new  gun,  which  he  laid  beside 
him  while  he  drank  plentifully  of  the  namu  enata,  until 
he  became  quite  drunk. 

At  last  the  blind  man,  scared  by  his  threats,  started  to 


422  WHITE  SHADOWS 

walk  away  in  the  slow,  halting  way  of  the  sightless,  and 
attracted  Great  Night  Moth's  attention.  He  picked  up 
his  new  gun  and  while  all  were  petrified  with  fear  of 
being  the  target,  he  shot  the  blind  man  so  that  his  body 
fell  into  the  oven  in  which  the  pig  had  been  baked.  The 
people  could  only  laugh  loudly,  if  not  heartily,  as  if 
pleased  by  the  joke. 

In  Hana-teio  a  man  in  a  cocoanut-tree  gathering  nuts 
was  ordered  to  come  down  by  Great  Night  Moth  who 
was  passing  on  a  boar  hunt.  The  man  became  confused. 
His  limbs  did  not  cling  to  the  tree  as  usual.  He  was 
fearful  and  could  make  no  motion. 

"Poponohoo!  Ve  mcd!  A  haa  total  Come  down 
quickly !"  yelled  the  chief. 

The  poor  wretch  could  not  obey.  He  saw  the  gun 
and  knew  the  chief.  Great  Night  Moth  brought  him 
down  a  corpse. 

There  was  no  punishment  for  him.  The  French  held 
him  accountable  only  for  deeds  against  their  sovereignty. 
A  superstition  that  he  was  protected  by  the  gods,  com- 
bined with  his  strength  and  desperate  courage,  made 
him  immune  from  vengeance  by  the  islanders. 

These  were  incidents  Le  Brunnec  knew  from  wit- 
nesses, but  it  was  Many  Pieces  of  Tattooing  who  told 
the  ancestry  of  Great  Night  Moth. 

"Pohue-toa  (Male  Package)  uncle  of  Earth  Worm, 
was  prince  of  Taaoa  and  father  of  this  man,"  said  Many 
Pieces.  "He  was  one  of  the  biggest  men  of  these  is- 
lands, and  the  strongest  in  Taaoa.  He  lived  for  a  while 
in  Hana-menu. 

"There  was  no  war  then  between  the  valley  of  Atuona 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  423 

and  that  of  Hana-menu;  the  people  of  both  crossed  the 
mountains  and  visited  one  another.  But  it  was  dis- 
covered in  Atuona  that  a  number  of  the  people  were 
missing.  Some  had  gone  to  Hana-menu  and  never 
reached  there,  others  had  disappeared  on  their  way 
home.  The  chief  of  Atuona  sent  a  messenger  who  was 
tapu  in  all  valleys,  to  count  the  people  of  this  valley  who 
were  in  Hana-menu  and  to  warn  them  to  return  in  a 
band,  armed  with  spears.  Meanwhile  the  priest  went 
to  the  High  Place  and  spoke  to  the  gods,  and  after  two 
days  and  nights  he  returned  and  said  that  the  danger 
was  at  the  pass  between  the  valleys;  that  a  demon  had 
seized  the  people  there. 

"The  demon  was  Male  Package.  You  know  the 
precipice  there  is  near  the  sky,  and  at  the  very  height 
is  a  puta  fcdti,  a  narrow  place.  There  Male  Package 
lay  in  wait,  armed  with  his  spear  and  club,  and  hidden  in 
the  grass.  He  was  hungry  for  meat,  for  Long  Pig, 
and  when  he  saw  some  one  he  fancied,  he  threw  his  spear 
or  struck  them  down  with  the  uu.  He  took  the  corpse 
on  his  back  and  carried  it  to  his  hut  in  the  upper  valley 
of  Hana-menu  as  I  would  carry  a  sack  of  copra.  There 
he  ate  what  he  would,  alone. 

"Oh,  there  were  those  who  knew,  but  they  were  afraid 
to  tell.  After  it  became  known  to  the  people  of  Atuona, 
to  the  kin  of  those  who  had  been  eaten,  they  did  nothing. 
Male  Package  was  like  Great  Night  Moth  later — a  man 
whom  the  gods  fought  for." 

Great  Night  Moth  sat  smoking,  listening  to  what  was 
said  in  the  listless  way  that  lunatics  listen,  unable  to 
focus  his  attention,  but  gathering  in  his  addled  brain 


424  WHITE  SHADOWS 

that  he  was  being  discussed.  I  watched  him  as  one  does 
a  caged  tiger,  guessing  at  the  beast's  thoughts  and 
thankful  that  it  can  prey  no  more. 

Many  Pieces  of  Tattooing  had  no  tone  of  horror  or 
regret  in  his  voice  while  he  recounted  the  bloody  deeds 
of  Mohuho  and  Pohue-toa,  but  smiled,  as  if  he  would 
say  that  they  had  occurred  under  a  different  dispensa- 
tion and  were  not  blameful. 

"Was  Great  Night  Moth  the  real  son  of  Male  Pack- 
age?" I  asked. 

"Ah,  that  is  to  be  told,"  said  Many  Pieces.  "He  was 
his  son,  yes.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  tale  of  how  he  escaped 
death  at  the  hands  of  his  father?  Ea!  I  remember  the 
time  well.  Menike,  you  have  seen  the  rivers  big  and 
the  cocoanut-trees  felled  by  the  flood,  but  you  have  not 
seen  the  ave  one,  the  time  of  no  food,  when  the  ground 
is  as  dry  as  the  center  of  a  dead  tree,  and  hunger  is  in 
the  valleys  like  the  ghost-women  that  move  as  mist. 
There  have  been  many  such  periods  for  the  island  peo- 
ples. 

"That  two  years  it  did  not  rain.  The  breadfruit 
would  not  yield.  The  grass  and  plants  died.  There 
were  no  nuts  on  the  palms.  The  pigs  had  no  food,  and 
fell  in  the  forest.  The  banana-trees  withered.  The 
people  ate  the  popoi  from  the  deepest  pits,  and  day  and 
night  they  fished.  Soon  the  pits  were  empty  and  the 
people  ate  roots,  bark,  anything.  There  were  fish,  but 
it  is  hard  to  live  on  fish  alone. 

"Some  lay  in  their  canoes  and  ate  the  eva  and  died. 
The  stomachs  of  some  became  empty  of  thought,  and 
they  threw  themselves  into  the  sea.  The  father  of  Great 
Night  Moth  sent  all  his  children  to  the  hills.  There  is 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  425 

always  more  rain  there,  and  there  was  some  food  to  be 
found.  His  wife  he  kept  at  the  fishing,  day  and  night, 
till  she  slept  at  the  paddle,  and  he  himself  went  to  the 
high  plateaus  to  hunt  for  pig. 

"For  many  days  he  came  down  weak,  having  found 
none.  But  at  last  she  came  to  find  baked  meat  ready 
for  her,  and  she  wept  and  ate  and  thanked  him.  He 
had  found  a  certain  green  spot,  he  said,  where  there  were 
more. 

"Many  times  he  brought  the  meat  to  her,  and  she  said 
that  the  children  should  come  back  to  share  the  food, 
but  he  said,  'No.  Eat!  They  have  plenty.' 

"She  came  from  the  fishing  one  day  with  empty 
baskets.  The  sea  had  been  rough,  and  there  were  no 
fish.  Her  husband  had  become  a  surly  man,  and  cruel; 
he  beat  her.  She  said,  'Is  there  no  pig?' 

"  'Pig,  you  fool!'  said  her  husband.  'You  have  eaten 
no  pig.  You  have  eaten  your  children.  They  are  all 
dead.' 

"Great  Night  Moth  had  escaped  because  he  had  been 
adopted  by  the  chief  of  Taaoa,  while  his  father  was 
hunting  the  children  in  the  forest." 

"That  is  horrible,  horrible!"  said  Le  Brunnec. 
"Maybe  this  Great  Night  Moth  could  not  but  be  bad 
with  such  a  father.  All  these  chiefs,  the  hereditary 
ones,  are  rotten.  Their  children  are  often  insane. 
They  have  degenerated.  After  the  whalers  came  and 
gave  them  whiskey,  and  the  traders  absinthe  and  drugs, 
they  learned  the  vices  of  the  white  man,  which  are  worse 
for  them  than  for  us." 

"Do  you  think  the  eating  of  men  began  by  the  ave  one, 
the  famine?"  I  put  the  question  to  Many  Pieces  of 


426  WHITE  SHADOWS 

Tattooing,  who  was  about  to  leave  the  store  with  Great 
Night  Moth. 

"Ae,  tiatohu!  It  is  so,"  he  answered.  "Our  legends 
say  that  often  in  the  many  centuries  we  have  remem- 
bered there  have  been  years  when  food  failed.  It  was 
in  those  times  that  they  began  to  eat  one  another,  and 
when  food  was  plenty,  they  continued  for  revenge. 
They  learned  to  like  it.  Human  meat  is  good." 

"Ask  the  gentleman  if  he  has  himself  enjoyed  such 
feasts,"  I  urged  Le  Brunnec. 

"I  will  not!"  said  the  Frenchman,  hastily.  "Tavatini 
is  a  good  customer.  He  has  money  on  deposit  with  me. 
He  eats  biscuits  and  beef.  He  might  be  offended  and 
buy  of  the  Germans." 

Many  Pieces  of  Tattooing  nudged  Great  Night 
Moth,  and  they  advanced  to  their  horses,  which  were  tied 
to  the  store  building.  The  madman  mounted  with  the 
ease  of  a  cowboy,  and  they  rode  off  at  speed. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

A  visit  to  the  hermit  of  Taha-Uka  valley;   the   vengeance  that  made  the 
Scallamera  lepers;  and  the  hatred  of  Mohuto. 

LE  VERGOSE,  a  Breton  planter  who  lived  in 
Taka-Uka  Valley,  was  full  of  camaraderie, 
esteeming  friendship  a  genuine  tie,  and  given  to 
many  friendly  impulses.  He  had  a  two-room  cabin  set 
high  on  the  slope  of  the  river  bank,  unadorned,  but 
clean,  and  though  his  busy,  hardworking  days  gave  him 
little  time  for  social  intercourse,  he  occasionally  invited 
me  there  to  dinner  with  him  and  his  wife. 

One  Sunday  he  dined  me  handsomely  on  eels  stewed 
in  white  wine,  tame  duck,  and  codfish  balls,  and  after  the 
dance,  in  which  his  wife,  Ghost  Girl,  Malicious  Gossip, 
Water,  and  the  host  joined,  we  sat  for  some  time  sing- 
ing "Malbrouck  se  va  t'en  guerre,"  "La  Carmagnole," 
and  other  songs  of  France.  Stirred  by  the  memories 
of  home,  these  melodies  awakened,  Le  Vergose  remem- 
bered a  countryman  who  lived  nearby. 

"There  is  a  hermit  who  lives  a  thousand  feet  up  the 
valley,"  said  he.  "We  might  take  him  half  a  litre  of 
rum.  He  is  a  Breton  of  Brest  who  has  been  here  many 
years.  He  eats  nothing  but  bananas,  for  he  lives  in  a 
banana  grove,  and  he  is  able  only  to  totter  to  the  river 
for  water.  He  never  moves  from  his  little  hut  except  to 
pick  a  few  bananas.  He  lives  alone.  Hardly  any  one 
sees  him  from  year  to  year.  I  think  he  would  be  glad  to 
have  a  visitor." 

A  wet  and  slippery  trail  through  the  forest  along  the 
river  bank  led  toward  the  hermit's  grove.  Toiling  up  it, 

427 


428  WHITE  SHADOWS 

sliding  and  clutching  the  boughs  that  overhung  and  al- 
most obliterated  it,  we  passed  a  small  native  house  of 
straw,  almost  hidden  by  the  trees,  and  were  hailed  by  the 
voice  of  a  woman. 

ffl  hea?  Where  do  you  go?"  The  words  were  sharp, 
with  a  tone  almost  of  anxiety,  of  fear. 

"We  go  to  see  Hemeury  Francois,"  replied  Le  Ver- 
gose. 

The  woman  who  had  spoken  came  half-way  down  the 
worn  and  dirty  steps  of  her  paepae.  She  was  old,  but 
with  an  age  more  of  bitter  and  devastating  emotion  than 
of  years.  Her  haggard  face,  drawn  and  seamed  with 
cruel  lines,  showed  still  the  traces  of  a  beauty  that  had 
been  hard  and  handsome  rather  than  lovely.  She  said 
nothing  more,  but  stood  watching  our  progress,  her  tall 
figure  absolutely  motionless  in  its  dark  tunic,  her  eyes 
curiously  intent  upon  us.  I  felt  relief  when  the  thick 
curtains  of  leaves  shut  us  from  her  view. 

"That  is  Mohuto,"  said  Le  Vergose.  "She  is  a  soli- 
tary, too.  All  her  people  have  died,  and  she  has  become 
hard  and  bitter.  That  is  a  strange  thing,  for  an  is- 
lander. But  she  was  beautiful  once.  Perhaps  she 
broods  upon  that." 

We  entered  the  banana-grove,  an  acre  or  two  of  huge 
plants,  thirty  feet  high,  so  close  together  that  the  sun 
could  not  touch  the  soil.  The  earth  was  dank  and  dark, 
almost  a  swamp,  and  the  trees  were  like  yellowish-green 
ghosts  in  the  gloom.  Their  great  soft  leaves  shut  out 
the  sky,  and  from  their  limp  edges  there  was  a  ceaseless 
drip  of  moisture.  A  horde  of  mosquitos,  black  and 
small,  emerged  from  the  shadows,  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands, and  smote  us  upon  every  exposed  part.  In  a 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  429 

few  minutes  our  faces  were  smeared  with  blood  from 
their  killing.  Curses  in  Breton,  in  Marquesan,  and 
American  rent  the  stillness. 

In  this  dismal,  noisome  spot  was  a  wretched  hut  built 
of  purau  saplings,  as  crude  a  dwelling  as  the  shelter  a 
trapper  builds  for  a  few  days'  habitation.  It  was  ten 
feet  long  and  four  wide,  shaky  and  rotten.  Inside  it 
was  like  the  lair  of  a  wild  beast,  a  bed  of  moldy  leaves. 
A  line  stretched  just  below  the  thatched  roof  held  a  few 
discolored  newspapers. 

On  the  heap  of  leaves  sat  the  remnant  of  a  man,  a 
crooked  skeleton  in  dirty  rags,  his  face  a  parchment  of 
wrinkles  framed  by  a  mass  of  whitening  hair.  He 
looked  ages  old,  his  eyes  small  holes,  red  rimmed,  his 
hands,  in  which  he  held  a  shaking  piece  of  paper,  foul 
claws.  His  flesh,  through  his  rags,  was  the  deadly  white 
of  the  morgue.  He  looked  a  Thing  no  soul  should  ani- 
mate. 

"Ah!  Hemeury  Francois,"  said  Le  Vergose  in  the 
Breton  dialect  that  recalled  their  childhood  home,  "I 
have  brought  an  American  to  see  you.  You  can  talk 
your  English  to  him." 

"By  damn,  yes,"  croaked  the  hermit,  in  the  voice  of  a 
raven  loosed  from  a  deserted  house.  But  he  made  no 
movement  until  Le  Vergose  held  before  his  bone-like 
nose  a  pint  of  strong  Tahiti  rum.  Far  back  in  his  eyes, 
away  beyond  the  visible  organs,  there  came  a  gleam  of 
greater  consciousness,  a  realization  of  life  around  him. 
His  mouth,  like  a  rent  in  an  old,  battered  purse,  gaped, 
and  though  no  teeth  were  there,  the  vacuity  seemed  to 
smile  feebly. 

He  felt  about  the  litter  of  paper  and  leaves  and  found 


430  .WHITE  SHADOWS 

a  dirty  cocoanut-shell  and  a  calabash  of  water.  Shak- 
ing and  gasping,  he  poured  the  bottle  of  rum  into  the 
shell,  mixed  water  with  it  and  lifted  the  precious  elixir 
tremblingly  to  his  lips.  He  made  two  choking  swal- 
lows, and  dropped  the  shell — empty. 

His  eyes,  that  had  been  lost  in  their  raw  sockets, 
scanned  me.  Then  in  mixed  French  and  English  he  be- 
gan to  talk  of  himself.  From  his  rags  he  produced  a 
rude  diary  blocked  off  on  scraps  of  paper,  a  minute  rec- 
ord of  the  river  and  the  weather,  covering  many  years. 

"Torrent,  torrent,  torrent."  That  word  was  re- 
peated many  times.  Hause  appeared  often,  signifying 
that  the  brook  had  risen.  Every  day  he  had  noted  its 
state.  The  river  had  become  his  god.  Alone  among 
those  shadowing,  dripping  banana-plants,  with  no  hu- 
man companionship,  he  had  made  his  study  of  the  moods 
of  the  stream  a  worship.  Pages  and  pages  were  in- 
scribed with  lines  upon  its  state. 

"Bacchus,"  I  saw  repeated  on  the  dates  July  13,  14, 
15. 

"Another  god  on  the  altar  then?"  I  asked. 

"Mais,  oui,"  he  answered  in  his  rusty  voice.  "The 
Fall  of  the  Bastile.  Le  Vergose  sent  me  a  bottle  of  rum 
to  honor  the  Republic." 

What  he  had  just  drunk  was  seething  in  him.  Little 
by  little  he  commanded  that  long  disused  throat,  he  re- 
called from  the  depths  of  his  uncertain  mind  words  and 
phrases.  In  short,  jerky  sentences,  mostly  French,  he 
spun  his  tale. 

"Brest  is  my  home,  in  Finnistere.  I  have  been  many 
years  in  these  seas.  I  forget  how  many.  How  many 
years — ?  Sacre!  I  was  on  the  Mongol,  She  was  two 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  431 

thousand  tons,  clipper,  and  with  skysails.  The  captain 
was  Freeman.  We  brought  coals  from  Boston  to  San 
Francisco.  That  was  long  ago.  I  was  young.  I  was 
young  and  handsome.  And  strong.  Yes,  I  was  strong 
and  young. 

"That  was  it — the  Mongol.  A  clipper-ship  from 
Boston,  two  thousand  tons,  and  with  skysails.  Around 
the  Horn  it  almost  blew  the  sticks  out  of  that  Mongol. 
We  froze;  we  worked  day  and  night.  It  was  terrible. 
The  seas  almost  drowned  us.  Ah,  how  we  cursed! 
Tonnerre  de  dieu!  Had  we  known  it  we  were  in  Para- 
dise. The  inferno — we  were  coming  to  the  inferno." 

It  took  him  long  to  tell  it.  He  wanted  to  talk,  but 
weakness  overcame  him  often,  and  the  words  were  al- 
most hushed  by  his  breath  that  came  short  and  wheezing. 

"One  day  we  opened  the  hatches  to  get  coal  for  the 
galley.  The  smell  of  gas  arose.  The  coal  was  making 
gas.  No  fire.  Just  gas.  If  there  was  fire  we  never 
knew  it.  We  felt  no  heat.  We  could  find  no  fire. 
But  every  day  the  gas  got  worse. 

"It  filled  the  ship.  The  watch  below  could  not  sleep 
because  of  it.  If  we  went  aloft,  still  we  smelled  it. 
The  food  tasted  of  gas.  Our  lungs  were  pressed  down 
by  it.  Day  after  day  we  sailed,  and  the  gas  sailed  with 
us. 

"The  bo'sn  fell  in  a  fit.  A  man  on  the  t'gallant  yard 
fell  to  the  deck  and  was  killed.  Three  did  not  awake 
one  morning.  We  threw  their  bodies  over  the  side. 
The  mate  spat  blood  and  called  on  God  as  he  leaped  into 
the  sea.  The  smell  of  the  gas  never  left  us. 

"The  captain  called  us  by  the  poop-rail,  and  said  we 
must  abandon  the  ship  any  time. 


432  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"We  were  twenty  men  all  told.  We  had  four  whale- 
boats  and  a  yawl.  Plenty  for  all  of  us.  We  pro- 
visioned and  watered  the  boats*  But  we  stayed  by  the 
Mongol.  We  were  far  from  any  port  and  we  dared  not 
go  adrift  in  open  boats. 

"Then  came  a  calm.  The  gas  could  not  lift.  It  set- 
tled down  on  us.  It  lay  on  us  like  a  weight.  It  never 
left  us  for  a  moment.  Men  lay  in  the  scuppers  and 
vomited.  Food  went  untouched.  No  man  could  walk 
without  staggering.  At  last  we  took  to  the  boats. 
Two  thousand  miles  from  the  Marquesas.  We  lit  a 
fuse,  and  pushed  off.  Half  a  mile  away  the  Mongol 
blew  up. 

"We  suffered.  Mon  dieu,  how  we  suffered  in  those 
boats !  But  the  gas  was  gone.  We  struck  Vait-hua  on 
the  island  of  Tahuata.  It  was  heaven.  Rivers  and 
trees  and  women.  Women!  Saere!  How  I  loved 
them! 

"I  came  to  Taha-Uka  with  Mathieu  Scallamera. 
We  worked  for  Captain  Hart  in  the  cotton,  driving  the 
Chinese  and  natives.  Bill  Pincher  was  a  boy,  and  he 
worked  there,  too.  In  the  moonlight  on  the  beach  there 
were  dances.  The  women  danced  naked  on  the  beaches 
in  the  moonlight.  And  there  was  rum.  Mohuto 
danced.  Ah,  she  was  beautiful,  beautiful!  She  was  a 
devil. 

"Scallamera  and  I  built  a  house,  and  put  on  the  door 
a  lock  of  wood.  It  was  a  big  lock,  but  it  had  no  key. 
The  natives  stole  everything.  We  could  keep  nothing. 
Scallamera  was  angry.  One  day  he  hid  in  the  house 
while  I  went  to  work.  When  a  hand  was  thrust 
through  the  opening  to  undo  the  lock,  Scallamera  took 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  433 

his  brush  knife  and  cut  it  off.  He  threw  it  through  the 
hole  and  said,  'That  will  steal  no  more.'  " 

The  hermit  laughed,  a  laugh  like  the  snarl  of  a  tooth- 
less old  tiger. 

"That  was  a  joke.  Scallamera  laughed.  By  gar! 
But  that  without  a  hand  lived  long.  He  gave  back  all 
that  he  had  taken.  He  smiled  at  Scallamera,  and 
laughed,  too.  He  worked  without  pay  for  Scallamera. 
He  became  a  friend  to  the  man  who  had  cut  off  his  hand. 
A  year  went  by  and  two  years  and  three  and  that  man 
gave  Scallamera  a  piece  of  land  by  Vai-ae.  He  helped 
Scallamera  to  build  a  house  upon  it. 

"Land  from  hell  it  was,  land  cursed  seven  times. 
Did  not  Scallamera  become  a  leper  and  die  of  it  hor- 
ribly? And  all  his  twelve  children  by  that  Henriette? 
It  was  the  ground.  It  had  been  leprous  since  the 
Chinese  came.  Oh,  it  was  a  fine  return  for  the  cut-off 
hand!" 

Gasping  and  choking,  the  ghastly  creature  paused  for 
breath,  and  in  the  shuddering  silence  the  banana-leaves 
ceaselessly  dripped,  and  the  hum  of  innumerable  mos- 
quito-wings was  sharp  and  thin. 

"I  did  not  become  a  leper.  I  was  young  and  strong. 
I  was  never  sick.  I  worked  all  day,  and  at  night  I  was 
with  the  women.  Ah,  the  beautiful,  beautiful  women! 
With  souls  of  fiends  from  hell.  Mohuto  is  not  dead  yet. 
She  lives  too  long.  She  lives  and  sits  on  the  path  below, 
and  watches.  She  should  be  killed,  but  I  have  no 
strength. 

"I  was  young  and  strong,  and  loved  too  many  women. 
How  could  I  know  the  devil  behind  her  eyes  when  she 
came  wooing  me  again?  I  had  left  her.  She  was  with 


484  WHITE  SHADOWS 

child,  and  ugly.  I  loved  beautiful  women.  But  she 
was  beautiful  again  when  the  child  was  dead.  I  was 
with  another.  What  was  her  name?  I  have  forgotten 
her  name.  Is  there  no  more  rum?  I  remember  when  I 
have  rum. 

"So  I  went  again  to  Mohuto.  The  devil  from  hell! 
There  was  poison  in  her  embraces.  Why  does  she  not 
die?  She  knew  too  much.  She  was  too  wise.  It  was 
I  who  died.  No,  I  did  not  die.  I  became  old  before 
my  time,  but  I  am  living  yet.  The  Catholic  mission 
gave  me  this  land.  I  planted  bananas.  I  have  never 
been  away.  How  long  ago  ?  Je  ne  sais  pas.  Twenty 
years?  Forty?  I  do  not  see  any  one.  But  I  know 
that  Mohuto  sits  on  the  path  below  and  waits.  I  will 
live  long  yet." 

He  was  like  a  two-days'  old  corpse.  He  rose  to  his 
feet,  staggered,  and  lay  down  on  the  heap  of  soggy 
leaves.  The  mosquitos  circled  in  swarms  above  him. 
They  were  devouring  us,  but  the  hermit  they  never 
lighted  on.  Le  Vergose  and  I  fled  from  the  hut  and 
the  grove. 

"He  is  an  example  like  those  in  Balzac  or  the  religious 
books,"  said  the  Breton,  crossing  himself.  "I  have  been 
here  many  years,  and  never  before  did  I  come  here,  and 
again.  Jamais  de  la  vie!  I  must  begin  to  go  to  church 
again." 

We  said  nothing  more  as  we  slid  and  slipped  down- 
ward on  the  wet  trail,  but  when  we  came  again  to  the 
straw  hut  hidden  in  the  trees  Mohuto  was  still  on  the 
paepae,  watching  us,  and  I  paused  to  speak  to  her. 

"You  knew  Hemeury  Francois  when  he  was  young?" 

She  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  spat. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  435 

"He  was  my  first  lover.  I  had  a  child  by  him.  He 
was  handsome  once."  Her  eyes,  full  of  malevolence, 
turned  to  the  dark  grove.  ''He  dies  very  slowly." 

The  memory  of  her  face  was  with  me  when  at  mid- 
night I  went  alone  to  my  valley.  On  my  pillows  I 
heard  again  the  cracked  voice  of  the  hermit,  and  saw  the 
blue-white  skin  upon  his  shaking  bones.  He  could  not 
believe  in  Po,  the  Marquesan  god  of  Darkness,  or  in 
the  Veinehae,  the  Ghost-Woman  who  watches  the 
dying;  nor  did  I  believe  in  them  or  in  Satan,  but  about 
me  in  my  Golden  Bed  until  midnight  was  long  past  the 
spirits  that  hate  the  light  moaned  and  creaked  the  hut. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

Last  days  in  Atuona;  My  Darling  Hope's  letter  from  her  son. 

EXPLODING  EGGS  was  building  my  fire  of 
cocoanut-husks  as  usual  in  the  morning  to  cook 
my  coffee  and  eggs,  when  a  whistle  split  the 
sultry  air.  Far  from  the  bay  it  came,  shrill  and  de- 
manding; my  call  to  civilization. 

Long  expected,  the  first  liner  was  in  the  Isles  of  the 
Cannibals.  France  had  begun  to  make  good  her 
promise  to  expand  her  trade  in  Oceania,  and  the  isola- 
tion of  the  dying  Marquesans  and  empty  valleys  was 
ended.  The  steamship  Saint  Francois,  from  Bordeaux 
by  way  of  Tahiti,  had  come  to  visit  this  group  and  pick 
up  cargo  for  Papeite  and  French  ports. 

Strange  was  the  sight  of  her  in  Taha-Uka  Bay  where 
never  her  like  had  been,  but  stranger  still,  two  aboard 
her,  the  only  two  not  French,  were  known  to  me.  Here 
thousands  of  miles  from  where  I  had  seen  them,  uncon- 
nected in  any  way  with  each  other,  were  a  pair  of  human 
beings  I  had  known,  one  in  China,  and  the  other  in  the 
United  States,  both  American  citizens,  and  sent  by  fate 
to  replace  me  as  objects  of  interest  to  the  natives. 

They  came  up  from  the  beach  together,  one  a  small 
black  man,  the  other  tall  and  golden  brown,  led  by 
Malicious  Gossip  to  see  the  American  who  lived  in  these 
far-away  islands.  The  black  lingered  to  talk  at  a  dis- 
tance, but  the  golden-brown  one  advanced. 

His  figure  was  the  bulky  one  of  the  trained  athlete, 

436 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  437 

stocky  and  tremendously  powerful,  his  hide  that  of  an 
extreme  blond  burned  by  months  of  a  tropic  sun  upon 
salt  water.  His  hair  was  an  aureole,  yellow  as  a  sun- 
flower, a  bush  of  it  on  a  bullet-head.  And,  incredible 
almost — as  if  made  of  putty  by  a  joker — his  nose  stuck 
out  like  the  first  joint  of  a  thumb,  the  oddest  nose  ever 
on  a  man.  His  little  eyes  were  blue  and  bright.  Bare- 
footed, bare-headed,  in  the  sleeveless  shirt  and  short 
trousers  of  a  life-guard,  with  an  embroidered  V  on  the 
front  of  the  upper  garment,  he  was  radiantly  healthy 
and  happy,  a  civilized  being  returned  to  nature's  ways. 

Though  he  did  not  recognize  me,  I  knew  him  instantly 
for  a  trainer  and  beach-patrol  of  Southern  California,  a 
diver  for  planted  shells  at  Catalina  Island,  whom  I  had 
first  seen  plunging  from  the  rafters  of  a  swimming-tank, 
and  I  remembered  that  he  had  flattened  his  nose  by  strik- 
ing the  bottom,  and  that  a  skilful  surgeon  had  saved  him 
its  remnant. 

He  had  with  him  a  bundle  in  a  towel,  and  setting  it 
down  on  my  paepae,  introduced  himself  nonchalantly  as 
Broken  Bronck,  "Late  manager  of  the  stable  of  native 

fighters  of  the  Count  de  M of  the  island  of  Tahaa, 

near  Tahiti." 

"I'  m  here  to  stay,"  he  said  carelessly.  "I  have  a  few 
francs,  and  I  hear  they  're  pretty  hospitable  in  the  Mar- 
keesies.  I  came  on  the  deck  of  the  Saint  Franpois,  and 
I  Ve  brung  my  things  ashore." 

He  undid  the  towel,  and  there  rolled  out  another  bath- 
ing-suit and  a  set  of  boxing  gloves.  These  were  his  sole 
possessions,  he  said. 

"I  hear  they  're  nutty  on  prizefighting  like  in  Tahiti, 
and  I  '11  teach  'em  boxing,"  he  explained. 


438  WHITE  SHADOWS 

The  Marquesan  ladies  who  speedily  assembled  could 
not  take  their  eyes  from  him.  They  asked  me  a  score 
of  questions  about  him,  and  were  not  surprised  that  I 
knew  him,  or  even  that  I  called  the  negro  by  name  when 
he  sauntered  up.  We  must  all  be  from  the  same  valley, 
or  at  least  from  the  same  island,  they  thought,  for  were 
we  not  all  Americans? 

I  kept  Broken  Bronck  to  luncheon,  and  gave  him 
what  few  household  furnishings  I  had  not  promised  to 
Exploding  Eggs  or  to  Apporo,  who  with  the  promise 
of  the  Golden  Bed  about  to  be  realized — for  I  an- 
nounced my  going — camped  upon  it,  hardly  believing 
that  at  last  she  was  to  own  the  coveted  marvel.  Some 
keepsakes  I  gave  to  Malicious  Gossip,  Mouth  of  God, 
Many  Daughters,  Water,  Titihuti,  and  others,  and 
drank  a  last  shell  of  namu  with  these  friends. 

News  of  my  packing  reached  far  and  wide.  I  had 
not  estimated  so  optimistically  the  esteem  in  which  they 
held  me,  these  companions  of  many  months,  but  they 
trooped  from  the  farthest  hills  to  say  farewell.  Good- 
bys  even  to  the  sons  and  daughters  of  cannibals  are 
sorrowful.  I  had  come  to  think  much  of  these  simple, 
savage  neighbors.  Some  of  them  I  shall  never  for- 
get. 

Mauitetai,  a  middle-aged  woman  with  a  kindly  face, 
was  long  on  my  paepae.  Her  name  would  be  in  Eng- 
lish My  Darling  Hope,  and  it  well  fitted  her  mood,  for 
she  was  all  aglow  with  wonder  and  joy  at  receiving  a 
letter  from  her  son,  who  three  years  before  had  gone 
upon  a  ship  and  disappeared  from  her  ken.  The  letter 
had  come  upon  the  Saint  Franpois,  and  it  brought  My 
Darling  Hope  into  intimate  relations  with  me,  for  I  un- 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  439 

covered  to  her  that  her  wandering  boy  had  become  a 
resident  of  my  own  country,  and  revealed  some  of  the 
mysteries  of  our  polity. 

The  letter  was  in  Marquesan,  which  I  translate  into 
English,  seeking  to  keep  the  flavor  of  the  original, 
though  poorly  succeeding: 

"I  write  to  you,  me,  Pahorai  Calizte,  and  put  on  this 
paper  greetings  to  you,  my  mother,  Mauitetai,  who  are 
in  Atuona. 

"Kaoha  nui  tuu  kui,  Mauitetai,  mother  of  me.  Great 
love  to  you. 

"I  have  found  in  Philadelphia  work  for  me;  good 
work. 

"I  have  found  a  woman  for  me.  She  is  Jeanette,  an 
artist,  a  maker  of  tattooings  on  cloth.  I  am  very  happy. 
I  have  found  a  house  to  live  in.  I  am  happy  I  have  this 
woman.  She  is  rich.  I  am  poor.  It  is  for  that  I 
write  to  you,  to  make  it  known  to  you  that  she  is  rich, 
and  I  am  poor.  By  this  paper  you  will  know  that  I 
have  pledged  my  word  to  this  woman.  I  found  her  and 
I  won  her  by  my  work  and  by  my  strength  and  my  en- 
deavor. 

"She  is  moi  kanahau;  as  beautiful  as  the  flowers  of  the 
hutu  in  my  own  beloved  valley  of  Atuona.  She  is  not 
of  America.  She  is  of  Chile.  She  has  paid  many 
piasters  for  the  coming  here.  She  has  paid  forty 
piasters.  She  has  been  at  home  in  Las  Palmas,  in  the 
islands  of  small  golden  birds. 

"I  will  write  you  more  in  this  paper.  I  seek  your 
permission  to  marry  Jeanette.  She  asks  it,  as  I  do. 
Send  me  your  word  by  the  government  that  carries 
words  on  paper. 


440  WHITE  SHADOWS 

"It  is  three  years  since  I  have  known  of  you.  That 
is  long. 

"Give  me  that  word  I  ask  for  this  woman.  I  cannot 
go  to  marry  in  Atuona.  That  is  what  my  heart  wants, 
but  it  is  far  and  the  money  is  great.  The  woman  would 
pay  and  would  come  with  me.  I  say  no.  I  am  proud. 
I  have  shame.  I  am  a  Marquesan. 

"I  live  with  that  woman  now.  I  am  not  married.  It 
is  forbidden.  The  American  mutoi  (policeman)  may 
take  hold  of  me.  Five  months  I  am  with  this  woman  of 
mine.  The  mutoi  has  a  war-club  that  is  hard  as  stone. 

"Give  me  quickly  the  paper  to  marry  her.  I  await 
your  word. 

"My  word  is  done.  I  am  at  Philadelphia,  New  York 
Hotel.  A.  P.  A.  Dieu.  Coot  pae,  mama." 

Mauitetai  had  read  the  letter  many  times.  It  was 
wonderful  to  hear  from  her  son  after  three  years  and 
pleasant  to  know  he  had  found  a  woman.  She  must  be 
a  haoe,  a  white  woman.  Were  the  women  of  that  is- 
land, Chile,  white? 

I  said  that  they  ran  the  color  scale,  from  blond  to 
brown,  from  European  to  Indian,  but  that  this  Jeanette 
who  was  a  tattooer,  a  maker  of  pictures  on  canvas,  no 
doubt  an  artist  of  merit,  must  be  pale  as  a  moonbeam. 
Those  red  peppers  that  were  hot  on  the  tongue  came 
from  Chile,  I  said,  and  there  were  heaps  of  gold  there 
in  the  mountains. 

My  Darling  Hope  would  know  what  kind  of  a  valley 
was  Philadelphia. 

It  was  the  Valley  of  Brotherly  Love.  It  was  a  very 
big  valley,  with  two  streams,  and  a  bay.  No,  it  was  not 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  441 

near  Tahiti.  It  was  a  breadfruit  season  away  from 
Atuona,  at  the  very  least. 

What  could  a  hotel  be?  The  New  York  hotel  in 
which  her  poor  son  lived  ? 

I  did  not  know  that  hotel,  I  told  her,  but  a  hotel  was  a 
house  in  which  many  persons  paid  to  live,  and  some 
hotels  had  more  rooms  than  there  were  houses  in  all  the 
Marquesas. 

What!  In  one  house,  under  one  roof  ?  By  my  tribe, 
it  was  true. 

Did  I  know  this  woman?  I  was  from  that  island  and 
I  had  been  in  that  valley.  I  must  have  seen  her. 

I  replied  that  I  knew  a  Jeanette  who  answered  the  de- 
scription beautiful,  but  that  she  was  not  from  Chile. 

Now,  My  Darling  Hope  knit  her  brow.  Why  would 
the  mutoi  take  hold  of  her  son,  as  he  feared? 

I  soothed  her  anxiety.  The  mutoi  walked  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  hotel,  but  he  would  not  bother  her 
son  as  long  as  her  son  could  get  a  few  piasters  now  and 
then  to  hand  to  him.  The  woman  was  rich,  and  would 
not  miss  a  trifling  sum,  five  or  ten  piasters  a  month  for 
the  mutoi. 

But  why  was  it  forbidden  for  her  son  to  live  with 
Jeanette,  being  not  married  to  her? 

That  was  our  law,  but  it  was  seldom  enforced.  The 
mutois  were  fat  men  who  carried  war-clubs  and  struck 
the  poor  with  them,  but  her  son  was  tapu  because  of 
Jeanette's  money. 

She  was  at  ease  now,  she  said.  Her  son  could  not 
marry  without  her  permission.  No  Marquesan  had 
ever  done  so.  She  would  send  the  word  by  the  next 


442  WHITE  SHADOWS 

schooner,  or  I  might  take  it  with  me  to  my  own  island 
and  hand  it  to  her  son.  He  could  then  marry. 

I  had  done  her  a  great  kindness,  but  one  thing  more. 
Neither  she  nor  Titihuti  nor  Water  could  make  out 
what  Pahorai  Calizte  meant  by  "Coot  Pae,  Mama." 
"A.  P.  A.  Dieu."  was  his  commendation  of  her  to  God, 
but  Coot  Pae  was  not  Marquesan,  neither  was  it  French. 
She  pronounced  the  words  in  the  Marquesan  way,  and  I 
knew  at  once.  Coot  pae  is  pronounced  Coot  Pye,  and 
Coot  Pye  was  Pahorai  Calizte's  way  of  imitating  the 
American  for  Apae  Kaoha.  "Good-by,  mama,"  was 
his  quite  Philadelphia  closing  of  his  letter  to  his  mother. 

I  addressed  an  envelop  to  her  son  with  The  Iron 
Fingers  That  Make  Words,  and  gave  it  to  My  Darling 
Hope.  A  tear  came  in  her  eye.  She  rubbed  my  bare 
back  affectionately  and  caressed  my  nose  with  hers  as 
she  smelled  me  solemnly.  Then  she  went  up  the  valley 
to  enlighten  the  hill  people. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

The  chants  of  departure;  night  falls  on  the  Land  of  the  War  Fleet. 

ON  the  eve  of  my  going  all  the  youth  and  beauty 
of  Atuona  crowded  my  paepae.  Water 
brought  his  ukulele,  a  Hawaiian  faro-patch 
guitar,  and  sang  his  repertoire  of  ballads  of  Hawaii — 
"Aloha  Oe,"  "Hawaii  Ponoi,"  and  "One,  Two,  Three, 
Four."  Urged  by  all,  I  gave  them  for  the  last  time  my 
vocal  masterpiece,  "All  Night  Long  He  Calls  Her 
Snooky-Ukums !"  and  was  rewarded  by  a  clamor  of  ap- 
plauding cries.  Marquesans  think  our  singing  strange 
— and  no  wonder !  Theirs  is  a  prolonged  chant,  a  mono- 
tone without  tune,  with  no  high  notes  and  little  variance. 
But  loving  distraction,  they  listened  with  deep  amuse- 
ment to  my  rendering  of  American  airs,  as  we  might 
listen  to  Chinese  falsettos. 

They  repaid  me  by  reciting  legends  of  their  clans,  and 
Titihuti  chanted  her  genealogy,  a  record  kept  by 
memory  in  all  families.  Water,  her  son,  who  had 
learned  to  write,  set  it  down  on  paper  for  me.  It 
named  the  ancestors  in  pairs,  father  and  mother,  and 
Titihuti  remembered  thirty-eight  generations,  which 
covered  perhaps  a  thousand  years. 

We  sat  in  a  respectful  circle  about  her  while  she 
chanted  it.  An  Amazon  in  height  and  weight,  nearly 
six  feet  tall,  body  and  head  cast  in  heroic  mold,  she 
stood  erect,  her  scarlet  tunic  gathered  to  display  her 
symmetrical  legs,  tattooed  in  thought-kindling  patterns, 

443 


444  WHITE  SHADOWS 

the  feet  and  ankles  as  if  encased  in  elegant  Oriental 
sandals.  Her  red-gold  hair,  a  flame  in  the  flickering 
light  of  the  torches,  was  wreathed  with  bright-green, 
glossy  leaves,  necklaces  of  peppers  and  small  colored 
nuts  rose  and  fell  with  her  deep  breathing. 

Her  voice  was  melodious,  pitched  low,  and  vibrating 
with  the  peculiar  tone  of  the  chant,  a  tone  impossible  of 
imitation  to  one  who  has  not  learned  it  as  a  child.  Her 
eyes  were  kindled  with  pride  of  ancestry  as  she  called 
the  roll  of  experiences  and  achievements  of  the  line  that 
had  bred  her,  and  her  clear-cut  Greek  features  mirrored 
every  emotion  she  felt,  emotions  of  glory  and  pride,  of 
sorrow  and  abasement  at  the  fall  of  her  race,  of  stoic 
fortitude  in  the  dull  present  and  hopeless  future  of  her 
people.  With  one  shapely  arm  upraised,  she  uttered 
the  names,  trumpet-calls  to  memory  and  imagination : 

Enata  (Men)  Vehine  (Women) 

Na  tupa  efitu  Metui  te  vehine 

Tupa  oa  ia  fai  Puha  Momoo 

O  tupa  haaituani  O  haiko 

O  nuku  Oui  aei 

O  hutu  Moeakau 

O  oka  Oinu  vaa 

O  moota  O  niniauo 

O  tiu  Moafitu  otemau 

Fekei  O  mauniua 

O  tuoa  Hotaei 

O  meae  Oa  tua  hae 

O  tehu  eo  Kei  pana 

O  ahunia  Tui  haa 

O  taa  tini  Kei  pana 

Nohea  Tou  mata 

Tua  kina  Papa  ohe 

Tepiu  Punoa 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  445 

Tui  feaa  Tuhina 

Naani  Eiva  Eio  Hoki 

Team  nui  nei  O  tapu  ohi 

Ani  hetiti  Opu  tini 

0  kou  aehitini  0  take  oho 

O  taupo  O  te  heva 

Tui  pahu  Otiu  hoku 

O  hupe  Oahu  tupua 

O  papuaei  O  honu  feti 

Pepene  tona  Honu  tona 

Haheinutu  O  taoho 

Kotio  nui  Taihaupu 

Motu  haa  Mu  eiamau 

Hope  taupo  Tuhi  pahu 

Taupo  tini  Anitia  fitu 

Ana  tete  Pa  efitu 

Kihiputona  Tahio  paha  oho 

Taua  kahiepo  Honu  tona 

Mahea  tete  Titihuti 

Aino  tete  tika  Tua  vahiane 

Kui  motua  Titihuti 

Loud  sang  the  names  themselves,  proclaiming  the 
merits  of  their  bearers  or  their  fathers  in  heraldic  words, 
in  titles  like  banners  on  castle  walls,  flying  the  standard 
of  ideals  and  attainments  of  men  and  women  long  since 
dust. 

Masters  of  Sea  and  Land,  Commander  of  the  Stars, 
Orderers  of  the  Waxing  and  Waning  of  the  Moon, 
Ten  Thousand  Ocean  Tides,  Man  of  Fair  Countenance, 
Caller  to  Myriads,  Climber  to  the  Ninth  Heaven,  Man 
of  Understanding,  Player  of  the  Game  of  Life,  Doer  of 
Deeds  of  Daring,  Ten  Thousand  Cocoanut  Leaves,  The 
Enclosure  of  the  Whale's  Tooth,  Man  of  the  Forbidden 
Place,  The  Whole  Blue  Sky,  Player  of  the  War  Drum, 


446  WHITE  SHADOWS 

The  Long  Stayer;  these  were  the  names  that  called 
down  the  centuries,  bringing  back  to  Titihuti  and  to  us 
who  sat  at  her  feet  in  the  glow  of  the  torches  the  fame 
and  glory  of  her  people  through  ages  past. 

How  compare  such  names  with  John  Smith  or  Henry 
Wilson?  Yet  we  ourselves,  did  we  remember  it,  have 
come  from  ancestors  bearing  names  as  resonant.  Nero 
was  Ahenobarbus,  the  Red-Bearded,  to  his  contempo- 
raries of  Rome,  at  the  time  when  Titihuti's  forefathers 
were  brave  and  great  beneath  the  cocoanut-palms  of 
Atuona.  Our  lists  of  early  European  kings  carry 
names  as  full  of  meaning  as  theirs;  Charles  the  Ham- 
mer, Edward  the  Confessor,  Charles  the  Bold,  Richard 
the  Lion-Hearted,  Hereward  the  Wake. 

Titihuti,  having  gravely  finished  her  chant,  stood  for 
a  moment  in  silence.  Then,  " Auel"  she  said  with  a 
sigh.  "No  one  will  remember  when  I  am  gone. 
Water,  my  son,  nor  Keke,  my  daughter,  have  learned 
these  names  of  their  forefathers  and  mothers  who  were 
noble  and  renowned.  What  does  it  matter?  We  will 
all  be  gone  soon,  and  the  cocoanut-groves  of  our  islands 
will  know  us  no  more.  We  come,  we  do  not  know 
whence,  and  we  go,  we  do  not  know  where.  Only  the 
sea  endures,  and  it  does  not  remember." 

She  sat  on  the  mat  beside  me,  and  pressed  my  hand. 
I  had  been  adopted  as  her  son,  and  she  was  sorry  to 
see  me  departing  to  the  unknown  island  from  which  I 
had  come,  and  from  which,  she  knew,  I  would  never 
return.  She  was  mournful ;  she  said  that  her  heart  was 
heavy.  But  I  praised  lavishly  her  beautifully  tattooed 
legs,  and  complimented  the  decoration  of  her  hair  until 
she  smiled  again,  and  when  from  the  shadowy  edges 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  447 

of  the  ring  of  torch-light  voices  began  an  old  chant  of 
feasting,  she  took  it  up  with  the  others. 

There  were  Marquesans  who  could  recite  one  hundred 
and  forty-five  generations  of  their  families,  covering 
more  than  thirty-six  hundred  years.  Enough  to  make 
family  trees  that  go  back  to  the  Norman  conquest  ap- 
pear insignificant.  I  had  known  an  old  Maori  priest 
who  traced  his  ancestry  to  Rangi  and  Papa,  through 
one  hundred  and  eighty-two  generations,  4,550  years. 
The  Easter  Islanders  spoke  of  fifty-seven  generations, 
and  in  Raratonga  ninety  pairs  of  ancestors  are  recited. 
The  pride  of  the  white  man  melts  before  such  records. 

Such  incidents  as  the  sack  of  Jerusalem,  the  Crusades, 
or  Caesar's  assassination,  are  recent  events  compared 
to  the  beginnings  of  some  of  these  families,  whose  last 
descendants  have  died  or  are  dying  to-day. 

I  took  Titihuti's  words  with  me  as  I  went  down  the 
trail  from  my  little  blue  cabin  at  the  foot  of  Temetiu 
for  the  last  time:  "We  come,  we  do  not  know  whence, 
and  we  go,  we  do  not  know  where.  Only  the  sea  en- 
dures, and  it  does  not  remember." 

Great  Fern,  Haabuani,  Exploding  Eggs,  and  Water 
carried  my  bags  and  boxes  to  the  shore,  while  I  said 
adieux  to  the  governor,  Bauda,  and  Le  Brunnec. 
When  I  reached  the  beach  all  the  people  of  the  valley 
were  gathered  there.  They  sat  upon  the  sand,  men  and 
women  and  children,  and  intoned  my  farewell  ode — 
my  pae  me  io  te: 

"Apae! 

Kaoha !  te  Menike ! 
Mau  oti  oe  anao  nei 
i  te  apua  Kahito 


448  WHITE  SHADOWS 

o  a'Tahiti. 

Ei  e  tihe  to  metao  iau  e  hoa  iriti  oei  au  ote  vei  mata  to  taua. 
E  avei  atu." 

*'O,  farewell  to  you,  American! 
You  go  to  far-distant  Tahiti! 
There  you  will  stay,  but  you  will  weep  for  me. 
Ever  I  shall  be  here,  and  the  tears  fall  like  the  river  flows. 
O  friend  and  lover,  the  time  has  come.     Farewell !" 

The  sky  was  ominous  and  the  boats  of  the  Saint 
Franpois  were  running  a  heavy  surf.  I  waded  waist- 
deep  through  the  breakers  to  climb  into  one.  Malicious 
Gossip,  Ghost  Girl  and  the  little  leper  lass,  Many 
Daughters,  were  sobbing,  their  dresses  lifted  to  their 
eyes. 

"Hee  poihoo!"  cried  the  steersman.  The  men  in  the 
breakers  shoved  hard,  and  leaped  in,  and  we  were 
gone. 

My  last  hour  in  the  Marquesas  had  come.  I  should 
never  return.  The  beauty,  the  depressingness  of  these 
islands  is  overwhelming.  Why  could  not  this  idyllic, 
fierce,  laughter-loving  people  have  stayed  savage  and 
strong,  wicked  and  clean?  The  artists  alone  have 
known  the  flower  destroyed  here,  the  possible  growth 
into  greatness  and  purity  that  was  choked  in  the  smoke 
of  white  lust  and  greed. 

At  eight  o'clock  at  night  we  were  ready  to  depart. 

The  bell  in  the  engine-room  rang,  the  captain  shouted 
orders  from  the  bridge,  the  anchors  were  hoisted  aboard. 
The  propeller  began  to  turn.  The  searchlight  of  the 
Saint  Franpois  played  upon  the  rocky  stairway  of  Taha- 
Uka,  penciled  for  a  moment  the  dark  line  of  the  cliffs, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  SEAS  449 

swept  the  half  circle  into  Atuona  Inlet,  and  lingered 
on  the  white  cross  of  Calvary  where  Gauguin  lies. 

The  gentle  rain  in  the  shaft  of  light  looked  like  quick- 
silver. The  smoke  from  the  funnel  mixed  in  the  heavy 
air  with  the  mist  and  the  light,  and  formed  a  fantastic 
beam  of  vapor  from  the  ship  to  the  shore.  Up  this 
stream  of  quivering,  scintillating  irradiation,  as  bril- 
liant as  flashing  water  in  the  sun,  flew  from  the  land 
thousands  of  gauze-winged  insects,  the  great  moths  of 
the  night,  wondrous,  shimmering  bits  of  life,  seeming 
all  fire  in  the  strange  atmosphere.  Drawn  from  their 
homes  in  the  dark  groves  by  this  marvelous  illumina- 
tion, they  climbed  higher  and  higher  in  the  dazzling 
splendor  until  they  reached  its  source,  where  they 
crumpled  and  died.  They  seemed  the  souls  of  the  island 
folk. 

They  pass  mute,  falling  like  the  breadfruit  in  their 
dark  groves.  Soon  none  will  be  left  to  tell  their  de- 
parted glories.  Their  skulls  perhaps  shall  speak  to  the 
stranger  who  comes  a  few  decades  hence,  of  a  manly 
people,  once  magnificently  perfect  in  body,  masters  of 
their  seas,  unexcelled  in  the  record  of  humanity  in 
beauty,  vigor,  and  valor. 

To-day,  insignificant  in  numbers,  unsung  in  history, 
they  go  to  the  abode  of  their  dark  spirits,  calmly  and 
without  protest.  A  race  goes  out  in  wretchedness,  a 
race  worth  saving,  a  race  superb  in  manhood  when  the 
whites  came.  Nothing  will  remain  of  them  but  their 
ruined  monuments,  the  relics  of  their  temples  and  High 
Places,  remnants  of  the  mysterious  past  of  one  of  the 
strangest  people  of  time. 

The  Saint  Francois  surged  past  the  Roberta,  the  old 


450  WHITE  SHADOWS 

sea-wolf,  worn  and  patched,  but  sturdy  in  the  gleam 
of  the  searchlight.  Capriata,  the  old  Corsican,  stood 
on  his  deck  watching  us  go. 

I  walked  aft  and  took  my  last  view  of  the  Marquesas. 
The  tops  of  the  mountains  were  jagged  shadows  against 
the  sky,  dark  and  mournful.  The  arc-light  swung  to 
shine  upon  the  mouth  of  the  bay,  and  the  Land  of  the 
War  Fleet  was  blotted  out  in  the  black  night. 

Some  day  when  deeper  poverty  falls  on  Asia  or  the 
fortunes  of  war  give  all  the  South  Seas  to  the  Samurai, 
these  islands  will  again  be  peopled.  But  never  again 
will  they  know  such  beautiful  children  of  nature,  pas- 
sionate and  brave,  as  have  been  destroyed  here.  They 
shall  have  passed  as  did  the  old  Greeks,  but  they  will 
have  left  no  written  record  save  the  feeble  and  mis- 
understanding observations  of  a  few  alien  visitors. 

Aped!    Kaoha  el 


THE   END 


C'h  L  . 


from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


A     000025749     3 


